


Things Unseen (That Are Captured on Film)

by scifigrl47



Series: In Which Tony Stark Builds Himself Some Friends (But His Family Was Assigned by Nick Fury) [5]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Author has mental issues, Buried Past, Developing Relationship, Domestic Avengers, Family, Fluff, Gen, History, Humor, M/M, Slight Plot Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-13
Updated: 2012-10-13
Packaged: 2017-11-16 05:46:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 41,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/536146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scifigrl47/pseuds/scifigrl47
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the Avengers discover the video footage of Tony testing the Iron Man armor, and that goes about as well as it could be expected.  Steve Rogers attempts to make peace with his lover's rather cavalier attitude to his health and safety, and starts learning more about Tony's family along the way, both the one he was born into, and the one he's chosen.  And, of course, the one that's chosen him.</p>
<p>Subtitled: It's all Clint's fault.  No one is surprised.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For those questioning about how long it took me to start posting the fourth part of the "Toasterverse," it's because I was writing the fifth part! Yeah, don't think too hard about that. Shut up. It's fine. I know what I'm doing. Okay, not really.
> 
> This piece was written for the Cap/IM Big Bang! I was lucky enough to be matched with two talented artists to help illustrate this madness, and I could not have been more pleased with the passages they chose to draw! The art can be found here:
> 
> http://i3.photobucket.com/albums/y60/h1545h1/movies003.jpg
> 
> And here:
> 
> http://sam-paranoid.tumblr.com/post/33494944719/big-bang-art
> 
> NOTE: This piece does follow "Dating the Long Way Around." It contains no spoilers for that story. It can be read before that one, because I haven't finished WRITING that one. Sorry, I am tired and cranky. 8)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those questioning about how long it took me to start posting the fourth part of the "Toasterverse," it's because I was writing the fifth part! Yeah, don't think too hard about that. Shut up. It's fine. I know what I'm doing. Okay, not really.
> 
> This piece was written for the Cap/IM Big Bang! I was lucky enough to be matched with two talented artists to help illustrate this madness, and I could not have been more pleased with the passages they chose to draw! The art can be found here:
> 
> http://i3.photobucket.com/albums/y60/h1545h1/movies003.jpg
> 
> And here:
> 
> http://sam-paranoid.tumblr.com/post/33494944719/big-bang-art
> 
> NOTE: This piece does follow "Dating the Long Way Around." It contains no spoilers for that story. It can be read before that one, because I haven't finished WRITING that one. Sorry, I am tired and cranky. 8)

“I am not watching Mission Impossible again. No. Not a chance. Stop making that face, it's my turn to chose and I hate Tom Cruise.” Clint held up the tablet, blocking his view of Thor's hangdog face. “Stop making that face! Stop it! I- No!”

“Giving in would be easier,” Steve pointed out, settling down on the couch with a bowl of popcorn and some microbrewed soda in an actual glass bottle that Tony had acquired from God only knows where. He was kinda looking forward to it, even if he'd never been a fan of cream soda as a kid.

“I am not giving in. It's my turn to pick the movie, and no, we are not watching anything involving Tom Cruise.” Clint gave Thor a bop on the head with the tablet, making the demigod laugh. “Just because some of you have horrible taste in movies-”

From a nearby armchair, Natasha made a noise that would've been a laugh coming from any other person the planet. She was in the process of sharpening an array of knives, the same way she did every week, making it clear that she was disinterested in the movie, no matter who picked it. Steve, however, noticed that she always chose to do her weapons maintenance in the rec room on Thursday nights. And she muttered in Russian at the widescreen tv sometimes during unrealistic fight scenes.

“Listen, at least my movies don't have subtitles,” Clint said to her.

She arched an eyebrow. “Didn't you make us watch Spirited Away with subtitles?”

“Fine, fine, shut up now,” he said, grinning. His fingers were dancing through the huge array of digital media that Tony had available for viewing. “Jarvis, is this stuff in any sort of order whatsoever?”

“I believe the filing system is along the lines of 'awesome,' 'more awesome,' 'chick flicks,' and 'why do I own this?'” Jarvis said, and Steve could so easily hear Tony saying it that he choked on a laugh. The AI continued, voice droll and only faintly amused. “If you would prefer, I can attempt a more... Conventional classification system.”

“You are the man, Jarvis, no kidding.” Clint gave the room a thumbs up.

“I appreciate the sentiment.” On the tablet, the screen went blank, and then the files reappeared, falling into neat columns and rows.

“What're we watching?” Bruce was barefoot and rumpled, his glasses crooked on his nose and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Behind him, Coulson was immaculately pressed, his shoes at a high gloss and his hair in place. Both of them were carrying an array of folders.

“Clint is holding up the works,” Steve explained with a smile. He offered Bruce the popcorn bowl. The scientist took a handful with a warm smile.

“And no one in the room is surprised by this,” Coulson said, his lips twitching. Clint, embroiled in lists of entertainment, flipped a middle finger in his direction, his grin broad and amused.

As everyone took their usual seats, Clint hummed his way through the choices. “Hey, Jarvis? What're these?” He tapped a list of files that were only marked with a series of dates.

“Sir's recordings of his early experimentation with the Iron Man suit,” Jarvis replied, and just like that, the whole room stilled.

“Wait, what?” Steve glanced up. He knew, intellectually, that Jarvis didn't live in the ceiling, but he couldn't break himself of the habit.

“Sir regularly records his experiments,” Jarvis said. “So the data can be evaluated. This particular series was from the time when he was attempting to make adjustments to the repulsor technology and the preliminary armor structure.”

Everyone stared at the tablet in Clint's hands. Even Natasha lowered her blades, eyebrows arching. “Why are they on the list?” Clint asked at last.

“The query presented was for video files that you have the clearance to access,” Jarvis explained. “While not strictly entertainment, or even particularly entertaining, these files do meet that criteria.”

“Wait, we can watch these?” Clint asked, eyes huge. “Are you fucking kidding me? Oh, we are watching these.”

“Barton-” Coulson started.

“No. No, no, no, I am watching these, the rest of you can leave if you wanna, but I am watching these, all of these, right now. Jarvis, you said we have clearance? This isn't like, super personal stuff, right? He didn't get naked or do casting couches for the Ironettes in the middle of these?”

A minute pause. “He remains fully clothed throughout the entire process,” Jarvis said. “And yes. I did have to review the footage before I could give you that assurance.”

“I fuckin' love Tony,” Clint said, cuing up the video.

Steve knew he should be objecting to this. It was an invasion of privacy. At the very least, they should wait for Tony to arrive and ask his permission. Instead, he scrunched himself down behind the popcorn bowl, ignoring the way his cheeks had heated at the idea of a naked Tony running tests on the Iron Man suit. Heck, even a semi-naked Tony doing repairs on the armor...

Oh, God, he was a pervert.

The screen flickered, and when it stabilized, Tony was standing alone in his workshop, adjusting a series of wires that wrapped around his arms and chest. He was wearing a black tank top, ripped to allow access to the Arc Reactor, a battered pair of pants, and a positively manic expression. “Okay,” he was saying, his voice holding that sharp, eager edge that meant he was into what he was doing. “Going to start at ten percent power.”

He held up his hands and shifted his legs, and in rec room, Bruce's back went poker straight. “Wait, what is he doing, that's-”

On the screen, Tony went airborne, his body smacking into the angled ceiling with a sickening thud.

“Oh, SHIT,” Clint said, jerking back.

“Jesus!” Steve said, slapping both hands over his mouth. The popcorn bowl tipped, contents going in all directions, and he grabbed for it.

“-far too much thrust,” Bruce finished, his voice almost lost under a string of what sounded like curses from both Natasha and Coulson.

“First attempts at flight seldom go smoothly,” Thor said, nodding. “I am most sympathetic to his plight, my own first flight resulted in a half dozen deaths.” When everyone looked at him, he shrugged. “Geese.”

And that was not a mental picture Steve needed, thank you very much.

“What're we watching?” Tony asked from the door. Every head swiveled in his direction, and he blinked at them. He had a box of cookies under one arm and a can of whipped cream in his other hand. “What?” he asked, head tipping to the side. His eyes caught on the screen, and he froze.

Steve straightened up, guilt rushing in to take over for the panic he'd felt when he'd seen Tony go airborne. “Tony, we-”

“Oh, my GOD, are you watching this?” Tony said, a huge grin breaking over his face. “Oh, oh, it just started, excellent, that is unbelievably excellent, you haven't even gotten to the best part yet.” He hopped over the back of the couch, crashing down on the cushions next to Steve. He grinned at Steve, dark eyes dancing with amusement. “You have to see this, this is-” He started laughing. “This is so good.”

“How is this good?” Coulson asked, his voice deadpan. “You nearly broke your own neck.”

Tony waved him off, waggling the can of whipped cream in his general direction. “And yet, I didn't, so, hey, funny!” He pointed at the screen. “Watch. Watch this.”

On the tv, Tony had stumbled to his feet, wobbling and unsteady, but with narrowed eyes and a couple of nudges from Dummy, he returned to the central spot in the workshop. “Okay, need to make adjustments to the-” He swayed on his feet, and Dummy put a hand in the center of his back like a little robotic prop. “What, what're you doing, I do not need your help, go pick something up, you've left the work bench a mess again, deal with that. No, not me, not-” Dummy rolled away obediently, and Tony pitched over, hitting the ground with a thump. “Ow.”

The Tony on the couch was in hysterics, laughing so hard that he was almost crying. Bruce was frowning at him, eyebrows drawn up tight. “This,” he said, his voice stern, “Is not proper lab safety protocol.”

“Well, duh,” Tony said, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. He was leaning up against Steve's side, his legs along the length of the couch and his head on Steve's shoulder. He didn't seem to notice how stiff Steve was, and Steve took a deep breath, trying to relax. Tony pointed at the screen again, grinning like a fool. “Here. Here, watch this.”

In the video, Tony found his feet again, made some minute adjustments to the wiring, shifted his arms, braced his feet, gritted his teeth, and went smashing right back into the wall.

“I did it again!” Tony crowed, laughing. “I am an IDIOT. Look at that, oh, my God, I am a fucking moron.” He bent double, laughing. “The next twenty minutes or so is me attempting to determine, with Dummy's not so helpful help, if I've got a concussion or a dislocated shoulder. And the answer was-” He pointed the whipped cream can at the ceiling. “Jarvis?”

“Yes to both,” Jarvis said, droll.

“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen!” Tony stood and took a sweeping bow. “Thank you. I'll be here all week, remember to tip your waitresses.” He tossed himself back on the couch. “Jarvis, pause that sucker.” He grinned at the screen. “I look drunk or brain-damaged. God, I love this stuff.”

“This isn't funny.”

It wasn't until everyone looked at him that Steve realized that the tense, angry sounding words had come from him. Tony tipped his head back, looking at Steve upside down, blinking owlishly in Steve's direction, eyes warm and dark and alive, so alive that just looking at them hurt. Steve could feel his heart pounding beneath his breastbone, the pressure so painful that he could barely stand it, he wanted to scream, to grab Tony and shake him, to make him understand-

Tony shrugged. “Sure it is.” He leaned back, fishing a cookie from the box and shaking the whipped cream. “I mean, I turned the camera off before I had You and Dummy reset my shoulder. That was pretty damn dumb, but I didn't want to bother leaving the shop. You know how it is.”

“No. I don't.” Steve realized his hands were fisted on his knees, and he struggled to get them to relax. “Tony, this isn't funny.”

Tony squirted a swirl of whipped cream on the cookie and popped it in his mouth. “You think this one isn't funny, you should definitely not watch the first Iron Man test flight. Man, that went poorly.” He chewed, swallowed. “Icing problem, did I ever tell you guys about the icing problem?”

“It's not funny,” Steve gritted out. “You could've died.”

And at long last, Tony seemed to understand that there was an issue. He arched an eyebrow at Steve. “And I didn't,” he said, and the levity was gone from his voice, he was calm and almost reassuring, his smile so very Tony, not the overblown one he threw around at the press and the president and his own lawyers, just a warm, 'hey, it's okay' smile that he reserved for Steve after the world almost got blown up and chunks of Manhattan were still smoldering.

It didn't even scrape the surface of the overwhelming rage that was shaking through Steve's frame.

Knowing he was at his limit, Steve jerked himself to his feet, sending the popcorn flying, and a bottle of cream soda went spiraling across the floor, round and round like some parody of spin the bottle and everyone else was quiet and he wanted to scream at all of them to just stop, just stop pretending, this was STUPID.

“I don't understand why you find this funny,” Steve bit out. “It's not. None of this is funny, it's dangerous and it's stupid and it's-” He cut himself off, turning on his heel and stalking away, only to come snapping back, feet crunching in discarded popcorn, and he didn't want to acknowledge the fear that was churning through him, did not want to think about that. About how many times Tony had almost died, how close he'd come to waking up in this century and finding himself without Tony.

“Are you seriously yelling at me about something that happened years ago?” Tony said, shaking his head just a little, and his dark eyes were obsidian sharp, black and clear and they cut so easily. “Is that's what's happening here? Yeah, we're not doing that, because, news flash, Cap, I had a whole life before you showed up, before any of you were here, so I'm not sure why you think I'll apologize for it, because this-” He stabbed his finger at the screen, where he'd been frozen in mid-step, determination and pain and frustration on his recorded face. “Is the least of what I could spend the entire rest of my life living down.”

“I'm not yelling at you about that, I'm yelling at you because you're still doing the same thing, you're still doing this stuff downstairs, aren't you? You have no sense, Tony, you just do things without thinking of the consequences and how it effects everyone around you and-” He felt Thor shift beside him, and he broke off, snapping, “What?”

“Oh, for God's sake,” Tony said, rolling his eyes, “back off, he's not going to hit me, don't be stupid.”

“I'm not going to-” Steve jerked his head towards Thor, some of his anger sliding away, replaced by hurt. “I would never, you don't think I would-”

Thor rolled massive shoulders in an eloquent shrug. “It would not be the first time one of warrior blood came to blows with a shield brother off the field of battle,” he said. “Best I stand near, so you have less to regret, if such a thing were to happen.”

“Okay, that's enough,” Natasha said, and it was with silky calm, even as her body shifted into fight position between them, a hand on each of their chests. Steve realized that Bruce and Clint were gone, and he knew the archer had moved Bruce away, just in case. Because the shouting was bad enough, but if there was anything more than that, well, the last thing they needed was the Hulk getting involved, because Bruce's fondness for Tony had definitely manifested in his alter ego. 

It was fine. Steve was calming down, he had to calm down, because Natasha was between them and Coulson was behind Tony, and he was fingering the pocket where Ol' Sparky was kept, and Tony would never forgive Steve if they got tased in his own rec room.

“Come on, boys,” Natasha continued, with a faint smile at Tony first, and then Steve. “We can all blame Clint for this mess, in that it is in fact all of his fault, and he's most likely hiding behind Bruce right now. But why don't we all take a step back, calm down a little, and then pick out a movie we all like? Something nice and-” She smiled at them. “Soothing.”

“I don't want to watch the movie, I want to discuss what we just saw,” Steve bit out. 

“No. You do not want to have this discussion with me,” Tony said, his voice very soft, very clear. “Trust me. You don't. So let's take Natasha's completely intelligent advice and all just go back to watching a nice movie right now, and pretend that this whole thing didn't happen.” 

Steve just about lost it. “Actually, I do want to have this discussion. About what sort of stupidity you pull every damn day we're active, ever mission we have, every time you sneak off and use yourself as bait and test things without having a clue what they are and throw yourself right in front of an attack-”

“Didn't we start our little working relationship by you pointing out that I wasn't the sort to make the big sacrifice?” Tony asked, his voice cold. “And now you're pissed off at me because I am? Just out of curiosity, can I do anything right where you're concerned?”

Yeah, he deserved that one, and it still hurt, it still hurt like a punch to the gut because yes, he seemed to make an absolute career out of saying things to Tony Stark that were both insulting and completely wrong, and if he thought about it very much, he'd never be able to look Tony in the eye again. And he didn't know why, why this was always the way, he didn't know why Tony could get under his skin so easily, scramble him up and twist his guts in a knot and make him so confused that he didn't even know which way was up sometimes.

But he knew that watching Tony flip through the air and impact with the wall was one of the worst moments of his life, and now he couldn't stop thinking about it, couldn't make his brain focus on anything else. 

“Don't ever do that again,” Steve said, and wow, yes, saying the wrong thing at the wrong time to the wrong person and he didn't know why he didn't just quit while he still had a friend, a lover, while he still had a chance of Tony ever touching him again.

Tony snorted back a laugh. “Don't do what?” he asked. “Narrow down what I'm not allowed to do. What you have now decided that I'm too incompetent to handle. Is it my work? Is it the Avengers? Going to my workshop? What, exactly, do you think you have the right to order me not to do, Captain?” he bit out, the words very precise, very crisp on his tongue. “I have a job to do, I have people, and a company that depends on me, and I'm sorry if you don't approve of my methods, but it's not your call to make.”

“Okay, now,” Coulson started.

“Do you really think that-” Steve stabbed a finger at the tv, “helps anyone other than your ego?”

Tony turned his head towards Steve, eyes and face unreadable behind a precise, sculpted mask that he'd honed from his own skin through years and years of practice. “Don't push me,” he said.

Steve leaned forward. “Or what?” A deliberate taunt, and he shouldn't do that, he knew he shouldn't do that, but the rage was bubbling, in his head and in his throat, and he couldn't seem to control the things that were coming out of his mouth, and he knew he was out of control even before he felt Thor's hand, big and broad and soothing on his shoulder.

Those long black lashes shuddered down, a flicker of movement, and then he was smiling up at Steve. “Or I'll just have to point out that you were so desperate for glory, for purpose, to escape who and what you were that you allowed a mad German scientist with a solid background of making fucking MONSTERS and my own grandstanding, drunken, power mad father to use you as a fucking lab rat in front of half of the military brass of the United States, who were there out of perverse fascination, and were more likely to witness your AUTOPSY than your transformation. You, Steven Rogers, do not get to lecture ANYONE on proper lab safety protocol, because YOU are a living example of what happens when people don't read the fucking clearance forms before they let people jam electrified needles into them in a fucking BASEMENT in BROOKLYN.”

“Well, damn,” Coulson said on a faint sigh.

And that's when the argument got ugly.

*

“Hey, Cap.”

Steve didn't look up from his position slumped over at the kitchen table. He might've mumbled something that sounded like a hello, or maybe a go to hell, that wouldn't have been very polite, so he hoped it was hello, but he really didn't know, his brain was so focused on repeating, over and over, the completely stupid things that had come out of his mouth as he and Tony had SCREAMED at each other.

That wasn't a fight, that was a car accident without seatbelts.

“Uh, Cap? Do you know you're hugging a toaster?”

“It's warm,” Steve said, his voice vacant.

“Well, okay.” There was a scrape of a chair being pulled away from the table, and then someone took a seat next to him. A mug was placed next to his elbow, almost but not quite touching his arm. “It's Pepper's custom blend of tea leaves. I have a custom blend of tequila and more tequila, but I hear you don't get drunk.”

Steve raised his head and met James Rhodes' warm brown eyes. The other man arched his eyebrows in Steve's direction and gave the coffee mug a nudge. “C'mon, I know, it feels stupid, but it's Tony Tea. Pepper's been holding it together around him for a decade now. It's gotta be worth something.”

“Thank you,” Steve said, the response automatic. He reached for the mug, more so he had something to do than because he wanted the tea. “Sorry, Colonel, I didn't know you were coming, I-”

“I was down in Washington, planned to stop up here tomorrow, but Pepper gave me a call. Asked me to come help soothe the stormy waters, but I figured you might need to talk more than Tony does right now. She's got him under control, anyway, he's used to ranting at her.” Rhodey had his own mug, and he wrapped broad, long fingered hands around it. 

Steve didn't know what to say to that. “Okay, Colonel.”

“You're dating my best friend. I think at this point, you have to call me Rhodey.” His head tipped to the side. “Or James? I answer to James, too. Are you, I mean, how're you doing, because I gotta say, you're really kind of freaking me out here, Cap.”

“Have you ever,” Steve said, staring at the wall as if it was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen, “just felt like you were outside of your own body? Absolutely aware that you're doing exactly the wrong thing, but it's like watching someone else do it?”

“All the time,” Rhodey said, his mouth twitching. “Mostly around Tony. The man has a way of finding my every exposed nerve and stomping on them. It's enough to make me want to strangle him some days.”

“I don't know why I said, well, any of what I said,” Steve said, and he could hear the haunted, traumatized note in his voice. “I just...” His words trailed off. “I'm going to get dumped, aren't I?”

There was a pause. “He didn't try to break up with you during the fight?” Rhodey asked, the words slow and measured.

Steve glanced at him. “No.”

“Huh.” Rhodes shoulders relaxed, a wide grin creasing his features. “Well. That's... That's a surprise. From the way that Pepper was talking, I thought we'd have much more damage control to do. This is... This is fine. You're fine.” He picked up his mug with a long exhale of breath. “That is a relief, I was not looking forward to talking him down off that particular ledge.”

Some of Steve's confusion must've shown on his face, because Rhodey smiled at him over the rim of his cup. “Tony,” he said, and the words came with care, with deliberation, “has a habit of cutting his losses before he can lose, or before he can become the loser. It's a defense mechanism. It's also a dick move, but...” He shrugged. “Can't fault the guy for finding a way to cope.”

Steve's fingers tightened on the porcelain cup. “He didn't try to break up with me. I don't think. He didn't say-” He sucked in a breath. “I'm not good at this.”

“Uh, I've never met anyone who's GOOD at relationships,” Rhodey said, his teeth flashing as he leaned back in his chair. “Really. But you, uh, you don't have, don't take this wrong, man, really, but, you don't have much experience. In this. Do you?” He paused. “Wow. I usually have an easier time with words than this, so, yeah.” He held out a hand, his eyes crinkling with silent laughter. “Hi, I'm James Rhodes. I hear you're dating my best friend.”

Steve gave a faint chuckle, not able to resist the warmth in Rhodey's expression. “Hi,” he said, accepting the handshake. He wasn't surprised to find that Rhodey's grip was firm and confident, his fingers strong and warm. “I'm Steve Rogers. Pleased to meet you, again. I am dating your best friend. For now.”

Rhodey stood up and headed for the cabinet. “Sorry, I'm starving. Pepper caught me in transit, I was lucky to be able to cut up here as fast as I was. Despite the fact that Tony's not actively building weapons any more, the military likes to keep him on their side. When the CEO of StarkIndustries calls to make a request for my presence, it's usually granted.”

“May I assist you in finding something, Col. Rhodes?” Jarvis asked.

“Yeah, any cookies in here?” Rhodey was digging through the shelves. “Tony's always got some stashed somewhere...”

“Second shelf, right hand side, in the-”

“Red tin with the stars,” Rhodey finished, laughing. “Thanks, Jarvis.” He returned to the table, cracking the tin open. “Hey, chocolate chip. Want one?” He looked up, and caught Steve's eyes. His head tipped to the side, and he set the tin down on the table. “Cap?”

“What? Oh, sorry.” Steve reached for the cookies. “Sorry, you just seem so at home here.” He wasn't really hungry, the lingering effects of the argument had his stomach churning. He took a bite anyway, hoping the familiar taste of sugar and chocolate would help settle it.

“I helped build the place.” Rhodey took his seat again, and popped the rest of the cookie in his mouth before reaching for another one. “You know, most best friends just want help moving. Mine decides that I need to move rebar.” 

“That's what you get for taking the suit,” Steve said, with a small smile, and Rhodey burst out laughing.

“See, that? Right there? That is Tony Stark, burrowing into your brain and leaving his crazy behind. You, you need to be careful about that, Cap, he's very infectious.” He took a sip of tea, washing down the last of his cookie. “Was this your first Tony Fight?”

“No. Uh, no, we fought all the time when the team was first assembled,” Steve said, staring down at the pale liquid. “ALL the time.” It did smell good. He gave it a try, letting the warmth linger on his tongue. Tasted pretty good, too.

“Those were just arguments,” Rhodey said, like there was a difference. He took a sip of his tea. “This, from what I hear, was a Tony Fight.” He pronounced the capital letters very clearly, and Steve couldn't stop a faint snort of amusement. Rhodey leaned back in his chair. “It's easy to forget, it's easy to be tricked by Tony, but under the flash and the sarcasm, he has a mind as sharp and finely honed as a scalpel.

“Let yourself be fooled, let yourself be tricked by his facade, and drawn in by his charm, and if he goes after you, he will shred you like a combine with an attitude problem,” Rhodey said, grinning. “You think you're having a discussion, you think you're having a fight, even, but you can hold your own. You're a smart dude, you know what's what. But he's on a whole other level, when he goes in for a kill, and it is so razor fine that you don't even know he's drawn blood. So when you're done, and you think things went well, and you walk away and realize that you are going to have to shove your intestines back into your stomach with both hands, well, then, you've had your first Tony Fight.”

“Yeah, that sounds pretty accurate.” Steve tried not to think about the way his stomach churned. It certainly felt like he was bleeding at this point. He swallowed another gulp of tea, avoiding Rhodey's eyes. “How do you handle that?”

Rhodey kicked out with long, rangy legs. “Me? Drinking and not living with him,” he said. “So are you asking, how are you supposed to handle it? Because that's a different question.” His eyebrows arched. “Is that what you're asking?”

Steve glanced at him, and away, reaching out to run his fingers over the top of Calcifer's case. The toaster rolled in circles on the table, bumping against his hand every time it passed. “I'd take the answer, if you had it,” he said to Rhodey.

Rhodes helped himself to another cookie, and they both sat in silence as he ate it, with careful, precise bites. “How well do you know Anthony Stark?” he asked at last.

Steve looked at him. Resisted the knee-jerk response that churned in his throat. Instead, he swallowed hard, and tried to relax his fingers before he broke the handle off of his coffee cup. “Not as well as I'd like.”

“Good answer.” Rhodey saluted him with his cup. “I guess I'm in the same boat, but I have known him a little while longer.” He leaned forward. “Do you know why you're sitting here, playing with the toaster, Cap?”

“I... Like our toaster?” Steve said, not sure where this was going.

“Yeah, but you're playing with it right now, because Tony made it. Tony made it, and Tony comes back for his things. He's not good at coming back for people, but he comes back for his things.” Rhodey set his cup aside. “I don't deny liking the armor, I don't deny it made his life, and my life easier when he let me take it, and pilot it, but you know what? Some part of me is glad to have that armor because Tony Stark comes back for the things he creates. As long as I've got the armor? I know he'll come back.” He heaved a sigh, and it sounded tired. Aching. “Eventually.”

“So that's it. I just wait?” Steve asked, setting his cup on top of Calcifer just to see the toaster try to heat it. Calcifer hated a challenge.

Rhodey studied him, eyes calm and dark. Steve met his gaze without flinching, his jaw tight and his shoulders squared. If he was acting like an idiot, so be it. No point in pretending otherwise.

After a long moment, Rhodey's mouth kicked up on one side, a lop-sided half smile, but his eyes were warm and kind. “All right, Cap,” he said at last, settling back in his chair. “You want to know? Then you need to run a mission for me. You've done information gathering, scouting, I'm sure, even you lazy Army types manage that from time to time. I'll tell you where and when and what. If you follow orders, I promise, you'll get the intel you need. Understood?”

Not quite sure, Steve nodded slowly. “All right,” he said at last. 

“Good. Now listen up, because I'm only going to tell you this once. There are a set of files that can only be accessed from Tony's workshop. They're not classified,” he said when Steve frowned. “They're not even private. They're just not public. It's a contradiction, I know. They can only be accessed from the workshop terminals, and you might need to ask Jarvis for help finding what you need.”

Steve's frown settled in a little deeper. “I don't think Jarvis will help me,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “That's kind of breach of trust.”

“Yeah, no. Jarvis will help you, Jarvis is much, much happier when Tony's not in a snit, and right now? He is all snit and pout and acting like a twelve year old with a bad crush on the team quarterback.” Rhodey leaned forward again, folding his hands on the table. “Workshop. Go. Get into the terminal, and yes, Jarvis will help you. There will be a set of files. One of them, if I'm not grossly mistaken about the situation, and yeah, I'm not, one of them will have your name on it.”

Steve straightened up, a warm rush that he didn't want to examine too closely making him feel better about his life. “What? Wait, why?”

“You'll have to read it to find out.” Rhodey's teeth flashed in a wide smile, bright white and warm against his dark skin. “I know I have one. Pepper, Happy, Jarvis. We've all got a file. Tony's idea of a proper file. Find yours, and read it.”

“I really don't think he'd want me in his files right now,” Steve said, his fingers fiddling with his mug.

“Look, Cap-” He paused, shook his head. “Steve? Tony is my best friend. As much as I admire you, and I do, and I'm pleased to know you, I'm not going to throw Tony under a bus just to get on your good side. I'm telling you this because I think you will find out what you're looking for, and you'll, well, believe it a bit more when it's coming straight from Tony, rather than me telling you what I'm sure is in there.” He stopped, lifted his mug and took a sip. The silence stretched, but there was nothing uncomfortable about it. Rhodey cradled his coffee mug between his palms, his head tipped forward towards the liquid, his eyes half closed. Steve let him think, more than used to carefully weighing the options and possible outcomes. Eventually, the other man set his cup down, the movement controlled and precise. “I'm on your side, or rather, I'm on both of your sides. If that makes sense at all.”

“It does, but I don't know if I can-”

“This is what I can offer you,” Rhodey said. The expression on his face was kind, understanding, but there was a sharp intelligence in his eyes, and Steve couldn't help but feel he was being tested somehow. “I can't tell you why I put up with Tony. I can't tell you why I like him, why I love him, I can only say, I can help you see him a little differently. The fact that you're here, looking a little frustrated and a lot homicidal, but still asking me why, that-” He chuckled, just a little, under his breath. “That's a good sign. You're tough. You can do this, if you want to. I think you can understand. But you've got to get there on your own.”

“Get where?”

“To an understanding of what Robert Hayden called 'love's austere and lonely auspices.'” Rhodey grinned as he stood, picking up his mug as he went. “Find your file. Read it. And then you can come back and ask me again, 'why do you put up with Tony Stark?'”

Steve nodded. “He's not ever going to speak to me again,” he said at last, and Rhodey patted him on the shoulder, a stern clasp of strong fingers.

“Cap, I've known him for years. Right now, he's more pissed at himself than he is at you. You have your orders. Let me know if you decide to take my advice. I'm going to go talk Pepper off the ledge before she quits, kills him, or sells his company to a wandering hobo for a button.” With a faint smile and a wave, Rhodey ambled out of the kitchen, leaving Steve to stare at the depths of his mug.

*

It took him three days to make his decision. As he stood outside the door to the workshop, staring through the shadowed glass, he started to reconsider.

This was a horrible idea. Not the worst one he'd ever had, but a horrible idea anyway.

“Jarvis?” he called, head tipping back. 

“How may I assist you, Captain?”

Steve grinned at the ceiling. “Hi, Jarvis. I was thinking of going into the workshop.” He dropped his head to peer through the glass walls. 

Another pause. “You visit the workshop often,” Jarvis said, and there was a faint note of a question in the words, as if Jarvis was trying to figure out if this was trick question. “Your security codes will open the door.”

“I know I can,” Steve said, resting a hand on the glass of the door. “I just don't know if I should.”

“Are you asking my opinion, Captain?”

“Yeah.” Steve glanced up again. “Rhodey told me to look at a file down here. I don't think he'd try to get me to do anything that would make Tony want to kill us both, but-” He sighed. “So I'm asking your opinion. Will I make things worse between me and Tony if I start poking at his files? Because, well, that's not what I want, but I don't know what to do anymore.”

The silence stretched out. “Sir,” Jarvis said at last, “is precise about his permissions. If you find that your codes do not work on this door, I can almost assure you that it will be when he is inside, and he doesn't want company. If your authorization codes allow you access, then that is access sir wants you to have. Even if he, perhaps, does not consider that you'd ever use that access.”

Steve mulled that over. “So, it's fine, at least until he realizes I am using it, and then it might be taken away?”

“That would be the long and short of it, yes.”

Steve couldn't hold back a grin. “You're going to rat me out, aren't you, Jarvis?”

“Are you going to attempt to order me not to?”

“Nah, fair's fair, and you have to protect him.” Steve leaned over and took a deep breath before typing in his access code. Just as Jarvis had said, the door opened with a faint click. That was a bit of a relief. At least their fight hadn't gotten him banned. Steve slipped through, and pushed it shut behind him. 

“I don't see any reason to volunteer the information,” Jarvis mused. “If I am asked, of course I will answer truthfully, but it is unlikely sir will inquire.” 

“Jarvis!” Laughing, Steve picked his way through the workshop, sidestepping through the debris of a half dozen projects. “That's pretty underhanded.”

“One does what one must. Please take care with that workbench, the contents are highly unstable.”

Steve took a step back, giving it a wide berth. “Gotcha.” A faint whir and rhythmic clicking was the only warning he got before a mass of metal and wires barreled into his side. “Hey, Dummy, what going on?” Amused, he reached out to rub a palm over Dummy's head, laughing as the bot arched up into the touch. Butterfingers and You both raised their frames up out of their charging stations, but they contented themselves with whirring and whistling until Steve raised a hand in their direction. “Hi, guys. How's everyone doing? Upgrades working out?”

“Dummy, Steve was sent to retrieve a file by Col. Rhodes. Please do not harass him, he does not have any oil for you.” Jarvis' voice was stern, and Dummy drooped down, looking pathetic. 

Steve laughed, fingers running down the metal spine. “I can try to find some oil,” he offered. Dummy was a shameless attention hog, and Tony was in a mood. Which was, if he was being honest with himself, mostly Steve's fault. He heaved a mental sigh.

“Do not encourage his poor behavior,” Jarvis said. “He knows better than to- Dummy, enough. Sir will be down tonight, and you can wait. Show Steve where he can access the maintenance files.”

Dummy chirped at the ceiling, then turned on his wheels, pulling Steve along by the front of his shirt. As they passed by, both Butterfingers and You gave up pretending to be uninterested, and rolled out to join them. The three of them bounced along, bumping into each other like a pack of rambunctious dogs. They exchanged a series of sounds, high pitched clicking and whines, then they clustered around Steve to shepherd him towards the appropriate terminal access.

At some point, his life had gotten very odd.

They all backed off when Steve was at the terminal, but they continued the encouraging sounding noises. “Thanks, fellas,” Steve said, and he couldn't resist one last scratch to Dummy's rotating wrist. “Jarvis, does this thing work like the rest of the computers?”

“It does. Would you like me to locate the appropriate file for you?”

“Thank you,” Steve said, relief bleeding into his voice. Tony's stuff made his head hurt sometimes. It was beautiful and brilliant and like art coming to life in front of him, but when it came to the systems that only Tony and Jarvis used, it was in a league of its own. A closed system that welcomed no one else. “Rhodey said that there would be a file with my name on it.” There was a beat of silence, and Steve glanced up. “Was he wrong?”

“No, he was not. I was simply not expecting that request. One moment, please.”

The holographic interface snapped into place, and a series of files flicked open, nesting within each other until Jarvis located the one they were looking for. As Rhodey had promised, it was simply labeled, “Rogers, Steven, Captain.”

The file opened, and the pages spread out.

Steve frowned. The first pages, opening on the left, were information about the upgrades Tony had made to Steve's old 1940's motorcycle. Plating, paint jobs, engine and shock changes to make the thing less of a civilian bike and more of a 21st century troop transport. Steve knew all this, Tony spent a lot of time babbling about the upgrades, eyes alight and hands moving almost too fast for Steve's eyes to track. Tony'd tinkered with everything, and there were schematics and records to prove it. Below that, there were shorter pieces about the changes to the Captain America uniform and Tony's attempts to get his hands on Steve's shield.

Yeah, that wasn't happening, Steve thought with a grin.

Frowning, Steve was about to close the file when he noticed the stacked 'pages' on the right hand side. Curious, he reached up and touched it, unfurling the information, and his eyes went wide.

Hundreds of data points stacked up, neat and precise, dated, counter referenced. He scanned them, and gripped the edge of the console, not really sure what to think.

It was maintenance data. Basic, uninteresting, but amazingly comprehensive. Checks of fluids and linkages, tire wear and brake pads, notated carefully. There were quick lines, in Tony's rather unique voice, about pressure and potential failure, tire tread wearing unevenly and handlebars not able to withstand the grip of Steve's hands under stress. He'd been quietly, carefully, adjusting things in ways that Steve hadn't even noticed. Tires swapped out for ones with better grip, then again for ones able to handle extreme temperature changes, and again to resist puncture. 

Tony was learning from the use, finding new solutions, new materials, using all of his resources and inventing what didn't exist. Steve's bike had become a prototype, there were schematics and chemical formulas and blueprints. Beneath that, quick notations of numbers that Steve didn't have a chance at comprehending, but he could see that some of this was being used, being produced now, military and civilian contacts for tires and shocks and grips and brakes.

But it was the notations that caught Steve's attention, reading Tony's mood in the words. Frustration when Steve did something he wasn't expecting, pride when a part held up the way it should, annoyance when it didn't. Failure was met with a flurry of sharp, hard lines, materials created and discarded, attempts marked as plausible or rejected or approved. Success just got a quick review, and then he'd move on to something else that wasn't functioning the way he wanted it to.

There were dozens of pages, on and on, precise and careful and so detailed that it was staggering. 

“How long has he been doing this?” he whispered, and it was a rhetorical question, but Jarvis answered him anyway.

“Since the first day your motorbike was moved on site,” the AI said, his voice calm, and Steve felt something in his chest tighten in an painful manner. “It's not just you, Captain. Everyone has a file.”

With a flick of his hand, Steve closed his file, and pulled up the one under it. Clint's. Pages of data on experimental arrowheads and possible stringing solutions, bow structure, arrow shafts and fletching and the reworked quiver, reworked over and over and over. Body armor and the shooting glove and arm guards made of materials that cost more than Steve used to get paid in a year. Boot grips and body camouflage and something that looked like a mini-parachute.

Natasha's was weaponry, lots of weaponry, that was expected, but other things, things he would never have thought of, communications devices and adaptive cloaking and prototypes for fabrics as light and flexible and thin as cotton but with the ability to dispel force, allowing her to move the way she did, but protecting her from a bullet in the back. There were paper thin computer tablets and gloves with fingertips that would allow her to cling to walls and ceilings just like Spider-Man did. 

Bruce's was filled, page after page after page, with materials built to withstand the Hulk. Things for him to use, to wear, to surround himself with. Tony was building a world that could withstand the other guy, giving Bruce a sanctuary, a safe spot to hide and live and grow.

Thor's was there, too, equipment and comm devices all designed to withstand brute force impacts and gale force winds, lightning strikes and extremes of temperatures. Steve hadn't known just how many SHIELD communicators Thor had gone through, how many phones, how many tablet computers. Steve suddenly felt better about his own early fumbling attempts to use the delicate tech. At least he'd never dropped a SHIELD comm unit into the garbage disposal.

Steve stared at the files, stacked up, electronic data that would fill hundreds of pages, if printed. “Hundreds of pages, hours of work, for no reason,” he mumbled, stunned.

“That is incorrect,” Jarvis said, and Steve jolted. “The purpose is to keep all of you safe, and alive. That is the profit in the thing. It appears to be enough for sir, since he continues his work.”

He hadn't known about any of this. How many hours, how many days that Tony had spent down here, laboring in silence, pushing the limits of his craft, replacing things and fixing things and upgrading things while doing everything possible not to call attention to it.

“Jarvis, I don't understand,” Steve said, bracing his hands on the console. 

“If you would like, you can ask sir yourself about the files,” Jarvis said. His voice sounded a bit tense. “In that he is currently on his way down to the workshop.”

Steve froze. “Do you think I should ask-”

“I DO NOT,” Jarvis said, making Steve jump.

“Close the files,” Steve said in a rush, and the holographic interface disappeared.

“If you would not mind,” Jarvis said, his words staccato and precise, “there is lubrication fluid two meters to your left on the workbench, perhaps you could assist Dummy with his joint issue?”

“What, uh, yes, yes, of course.” Steve wasn't proud of his fumbling attempts to grab the simple bottle, but he didn't knock anything over, and he was seated on a stool, with Dummy's 'head' in his lap, when Tony walked into the workshop.

Tony arched an eyebrow at the two of them. “What are you doing to my bot, Rogers?” he asked, but there was nothing accusatory about it, just a wry humor. He tossed a tablet onto the crowded workbench. “Hey, hey, no welcome for me?” he asked You and Butterfingers, both of whom rolled over to get in the way.

“Sorry,” Steve said, giving Tony a lopsided smile. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed being down here, just watching Tony work. “Dummy wanted some attention.”

Tony rolled up his sleeves with a snort. “Dummy always wants attention.” He crouched down. “What've you done to these relays, You?” He flicked his fingers on the underside of You's main strut, making the bot stretch up to give him better access. “Dummy is the classic oldest sibling, secretly wishing that he was still the only child.” He glanced up, dark eyes glinting. “Well, not so secretly.”

“I don't know,” Steve said, as Dummy flexed and rotated. “I think he'd miss his brothers. You'd be lonely, wouldn't you, Dummy?” Apparently uninterested, Dummy nudged the lubricant again. “Okay, okay!”

Tony gave a faint snort of laughter. “There's no reasoning with him until the bottle's empty. Greedy little weasel.” He pointed at Dummy. “Con artist. No one is fooled. Okay, Steve is fooled, but that's because he's new here. He'll learn.”

Steve brushed his fingers over Dummy's frame. “Do I get a chance to learn?” he asked, his voice quiet.

Tony didn't pretend to misunderstand. He gave a quick shrug of his shoulders. “Sure,” he said, reaching for a tool. He knocked a couple of things out his way, snagging what he needed by touch alone. “You're down here now. What're you doing here, by the way?” he asked, before jamming the screwdriver in his teeth. “Uttringers, UP.”

Steve stared down at him. “I wanted to talk to you,” he said, because that was nothing less than the truth. 

“Wonderful,” Tony grumbled under his breath. His head down, his shoulders hunched, he kept his eyes on his work. “So talk.”

Steve's shoulder's slumped, and he sighed. Dummy tipped his camera up, and then bumped against Steve's stomach. Steve couldn't help but smile down at him. “Gotta be brave, huh?” he said to Dummy under his breath. “Thanks, buddy.”

“Look, Steve,” Tony started, his voice tight, and Steve cut him off.

“I want to watch the rest of them.”

Tony's head jerked up. “What?”

Steve stroked Dummy's head. “The rest of the Iron Man videos. I'd like to watch them.”

Tony sat back on his heels. “Why?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. His eyes were narrowed, his expression unreadable, but the screwdriver in his hand was twitching rapidly up and down. Steve stared at him, not entirely certain of the answer. But the sight of Tony's fingers, clenched tight on the handle, was strangely reassuring. 

He wasn't alone in this, this fumbling, awkward attempt to find his lover's limits, in finding out what interference and contact and control that Tony would allow. Steve wanted things, too many things, and he never felt like his feet were on solid ground. It was like he was always on thin ice, and Steve couldn't forget just how cold the water was, under the ice.

Couldn't forget what it felt like to drown.

“I don't understand you,” Steve said at last, because that was the truth. “But I want to, Tony. I want to...” He glanced up, catching Tony's eye. He held Tony's gaze. “I want to understand you.”

“At what point does 'understanding me' become 'not liking me?'” Tony asked, rolling his eyes. “They're still in there, Steve. I didn't delete them or deny you access. They're all still there. Enjoy.”

Steve paused, and Dummy nudged him. “I know, I know,” he said, in an undertone. “It would be easier for me,” he said, choosing each word with care, “if you were there. With me. To remind me that you're still okay. That this is something that happened before, and doesn't-” He swallowed. “Will you watch them with me?”

Tony pushed himself to his feet. “This is the worst date idea ever,” he told Steve, tossing the screwdriver onto the bench. He ran a hand through his hair, and Steve smiled. “What?” Tony asked.

“You go from business sharp to workshop shabby in record time,” Steve told him. “I like you like this,” he said, risking a faint smile. 

“You have lousy taste, we already knew that.” But his shoulders were relaxed now, his mouth twitching. “Dummy. Get over here.” Dummy raised his head and put it right back down. “Hey! You- You are not nearly as adorable as you think you are, you damn heap of rusting metal. Get over here, or I'll make you clean out the Roomba bellies for the next month.”

Dummy was not impressed by the threat.

“Go,” Steve said, giving him a gentle push. “Before we're both in trouble.” Dummy glanced up at him, and pulled away, the movement so slow and reluctant that Steve could almost hear his wheels rotate. “That is a bit much,” he told Dummy.

“And the Oscar nomination to most ungrateful bot goes to- Not you!” Tony said. He shook his head as Butterfingers went to nudge Dummy along. “Fine. Whatever, Cap. We'll watch embarrassing home movies. But-” He stalked forward, stopping in front of Steve. He shoved a finger in Steve's direction. “I'm drinking if we're doing this.”

“Okay,” Steve said, grinning. Without thinking, he reached out and brushed a thumb against the streak of oil that had appeared on Tony's cheekbone. Tony reached up and caught Steve's hand against his cheek. He turned his head and kissed Steve's palm, the contact fleeting, before he moved away. 

“I am suspicious of your sudden pliability, Rogers. You are up to to something,” Tony said, going to the bench. He reached for a random part, and as Steve watched, he began fiddling, his fingers dancing over the surfaces like the artist he was.

“When you've had a drink or two, you put up with me cuddling you,” Steve said, rolling to his feet. “If you're home and you're safe, and you're not hurting yourself-” He shrugged. “I'll take whatever advantage I can get.” He glanced back and found Tony staring at him, his mouth hanging open. “Yes?”

“Did you just admit to hoping that I'll get tipsy so we can CUDDLE?” Tony asked, bracing a hand on his workbench. 

“Yep.” Steve shrugged. “I feel less guilty about it now that I told you. You can make an educated decision if you'd like to get drunk, knowing that I will take advantage of you. And your inebriated state.”

“Taking advantage of my inebriated state to cuddle me,” Tony repeated. “That's a little kinky, Rogers.”

“Yes.”

“I'm confused. In that I don't remember having objections to cuddling while I'm sober.”

Steve had to work to keep a straight face. “True.”

Tony turned back to the bench, not quite fast enough to hide the wide grin on his face. “I think I'll take my chances.” He stabbed a finger in Steve's direction. “You perverse bastard.”

“I was kind of hoping you would,” Steve agreed, and headed out, feeling far lighter than he had in days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Those Winter Sundays," By Robert Hayden, is quoted for review purposes, and no infringement of copyright is intended.
> 
> It can be read here:
> 
> http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/19217


	2. Chapter 2

“So did you find what you were looking for?”

“I found what you sent me to find.” Steve caught himself chewing on the end of his pencil, and put it aside with a faint sigh. The drawing on his sketchpad hadn't changed, so at this point, the pencil was more a prop than a tool. “I don't know what I was looking for.”

“Don't you?” Rhodey sounded amused. “No wonder Tony's making you crazy, Cap. You have to plan around that guy or he'll twist you up and leave you staggering in his wake.”

“I am utterly at sea with him,” Steve admitted. His fingers flicked against the paper, wiping away some non-existent eraser debris. One of the Roombas rolled around his feet, making happy noises about the possibility of eraser shavings. Steve created some, just to be polite. “I don't even know how to get my bearings again.”

“Less bearings, more a flight plan,” Rhodey said. There was the sound of rushing wind and computerized beeping in the background. Steve recognized the sounds of the armor in flight, even without Jarvis' comforting, calming voice mingled with the rest of the noise. “Or a battle plan. Hard to say with Tony, sometimes. Or all the time, let's just go with all the damn time.”

That coaxed a reluctant chuckle out of Steve. “It is, isn't it?” He stared at the drawing. Tony was leaning up against the side of Steve's bike, grinning in that 'Screw you, I'm Tony Stark' kind of way. It was infuriating and perfect in equal parts, and Steve caught himself smiling back. He slapped the book shut on the lovelorn drawing. Much more of this, and he'd end up just doodling Tony's name over and over.

Tony's name and his name, God help him, he was gone. Done. Finished.

“I don't understand,” he said to Rhodey. “I don't... Why doesn't he talk about any of that? Why the secrecy? Why does he work so hard to keep anyone from finding out?”

“What, the maintenance records? Because that's how he shows affection, Cap, and Tony is not comfortable with affection. Animosity, disdain, jealousy, lust, hatred, amusement, there's a laundry list of emotions that Tony Stark is intimately familiar with, and well-versed in dealing with. Love and affection are not on that list. He hasn't had much practice, and he's not likely to try and learn. He feels them, but he expresses them in weird ways. Offhand ways. Ways that you really have to watch, to see.”

Steve rubbed his forehead with stiff fingers, trying to ease the ache behind his temples. “Yeah,” he said, because what else was there to say? There was no point in denying something even he knew to be the truth. “So he fixes my bike.”

“Fixing is a necessity, Steve. Fixing, improving, he'll tell you about. He'll make a lot of noise about that, about how little time he has, how busy he is, how this is taking up too much time-” Rhodey broke off with a snort. “But trust me on this, do not ever suggest someone else handle it. Not ever. He takes that as a personal betrayal. Your tech stays in his hands, and you want a fight? Let anyone else touch it. I am not kidding, he will go off the goddamn rails.

“But this isn't fixing. Nothing's broken. Nothing you can see, nothing that could affect your use. This is just maintenance. This is the grunt work of day to day life. This is tedious and mundane and everything he's supposedly so lousy at.”

“He's not,” Steve started, and Rhodey cut him off.

“Oh, yes, he is. He really is. He'll forget anniversaries. He'll never remember how you take your coffee. If he's in the middle of something, and he's always in the middle of something, you'll plan Christmas without him, decide on your own birthday celebration. He'll forget your favorite color and author and movie. He's gotten me the same book for three years in a row for Christmas. I mean, it's a great book, but three years in a row, Cap. Three years. He'll forget what he's done, what he's said. He'll say the dumbest things when he's drunk and he'll hurt your feelings with the most off-hand remark.

“But Cap? Steve? That bike will not fail you when you need it. He has given you what protection he can, and that bike will not, will never, ever fail when you need it. If he cannot keep you safe, it is not for lack of trying, it is not for a lack of effort or will or pure unadulterated stubbornness. That is what he can do, that is what he can do better than anyone else on earth. It's not roses and moonlit walks on the beach. It is stunningly, painfully practical. The little stuff that proves he's paying attention? The grand gestures, the wild declarations of love? They're not going to happen.”

Rhodey paused. “And if you can live with that?”

“I can,” Steve said, without a beat of pause.

“Then you're golden.” Rhodey chuckled. “Really, if you can think of it the right way, Steve, it's amazingly sweet. You just have to work really, really hard to think of it the right way.”

Steve felt the smile that was playing around his lips, and it felt foreign on his face. He let it settle there, let it push something cold and lonely, something like fear, out of him. “It's not hard at all.” He paused. “'Speaking indifferently to him, who had driven out the cold,'” he quoted, his voice soft.

“'And polished my good shoes as well,'” Rhodey completed for him. “You looked it up.” 

“Jarvis found it for me, based on the author and the quote. 'Those Winter Sundays.' I liked it,” Steve said, and then he paused. “It's a sad poem.”

“I don't think so. Hayden's learned to interpret the everyday as something more. His view is a kind one, in retrospect, a kindness that maybe he wasn't extended. But he's learned to see the love there, anyway.” Rhodey's voice faded out, a faint edge to the words. “It always reminded me of Tony.” He paused, and Steve didn't say a word. The silence stretched, but it held no hint of strain or discomfort. “Just... Be patient with him, Cap, okay? I promise, if you can get through to him, he's worth the effort.”

“I know that already,” Steve said. He paused, his thumb flicking against the wire binding of his sketchbook. “May I- I have a really rude question.”

“Well, it's about damn time, Cap. I've been butting into your business for days, and you haven't told me where to get off, which shows remarkable patience. I think you're entitled to at least one rude question.”

Steve couldn't hold back a chuckle, but he sobered quickly. “Did you and he ever-” Awkward, not sure how to say this without sounding horribly jealous, he broke off.

“Were we ever the way the two of you are? Like, lovers?” Rhodey filled in without a flinch. “No. I love him, but I can't think of him that way. Hell, maybe he doesn't think of me that way, he never really made a pass. At least, not that I recognized, he does get really flirty when he's drunk. Probably if he did make a pass, it was back in college, and I did not take drunk sixteen year old Tony seriously about much. But no, he has somehow been one of the few people I've met who's been capable of resisting my charms. They are few and far between, those who don't immediately fall-”

“Suddenly, I'm seeing a certain resemblance between the two of you,” Steve said, smiling down at his sketchbook.

“Cap! Did you just make a joke? Did you just snark at me? At me? Good, you might just survive this long national nightmare.”

“There's hope for me yet,” Steve agreed, deadpan.

“There is, you think you're being funny, but you damn well need a sense of humor about these things. That is, if you're sticking around.” There was a faint rise at the end of the word that made it a question. A hopeful one, at that.

“I'm planning on sticking around.” Steve shook his head. “No. I am sticking around, plans be damned.”

“See, Tony needs a guy who can get things done,” Rhodey said, and there was laughter in his voice. “Look, just- Steve?

“Tony Stark is a pain in the ass. He's selfish and occasionally short-sighted about people. He has little to no impulse control, and a list of vices as long as your arm. He does horrifyingly dangerous things without thinking; he's so brutally intelligent that you'll feel stupid about half the time he's talking to you. He's careless with people, and things, and money, and himself. He will make you crazy.”

Rhodey paused. “But he's also generous to a fault. He has these moments of comprehension, of kindness, that are just brilliant. He's loyal, he's stubborn, he's resilient, he's full of this charm, this charisma, that makes everything easier, makes it so much better. He throws himself into things with all the enthusiasm he can muster, and he refuses to admit defeat.

“Tony's been my friend for a long time. And if there's any one thing that I want you to know, it's this: if I'm facing impossible odds, if I've got my back up against the wall, if I absolutely cannot fail? If the rest of the world is in ruins, if there's something, everything, hanging in the balance, if I have to do this, have to make it through? Then I'm calling Tony. There is no one else on Earth I want in my corner, not when my life's on the line, not when everything is on the line.

“Because Tony will fight to hell and back, and if he has to, he'll carry you the entire way.” Rhodey laughed. “Why is Tony Stark my best friend? Because he is the most reliable, brilliant, loyal, crazy son-of-a-bitch you will ever meet. Because he's worth every struggle, ever annoyance, and that's the damn truth.”

Steve was grinning at nothing. “Is that so, Colonel?”

“It surely is, Captain. I'd swear to it before Congress. And I fully expect that someday, I'll have to.” Rhodey was still laughing when a mechanical beeping intruded on the conversation. “Okay, break time's over, Cap. Drop me a line any time, okay? You'll get through this. I've got faith in you, and in Tony.”

Steve stood, gathering his things. “So this weird little thing of ours has your blessing?” He was kind of joking, and kind of not, because yes, having Rhodey on his side would make things so much easier in the long run, he knew that. And he honestly liked Tony's friend. Could use a few more friends of his own.

“Cap, you have my blessing, for whatever that's worth. The People Who Love Tony Stark Support Group can always use new members.”

Steve nodded. “I suppose that's true.” He paused. “Any other suggestions?”

“Well, if I were you, I'd find out where he goes on alternate Tuesday nights.”

“Tuesday nights?” Steve blinked, trying to remember. He was right. Tony did disappear occasionally with cryptic statements about a meeting, but Steve had never thought much of it.

“He has a standing appointment. And I'm betting you don't know where. You should find out. Good luck, Cap!”

*

Tony wasn't in the workshop. Steve wasn't really expecting him to be, he'd breezed out of the meeting this afternoon with an imperious stride and a well-positioned pair of sunglasses. Coulson had been the only one with the guts to ask him if he was coming home for dinner, and had received only a wave of a hand as a reply.

Steve stepped over a phalanx of Roombas, all of whom gave him a cheerful, “Steeeeeeeeeve!” before continuing on their duties. Something had exploded, that was clear, but there was only the residual smell of smoke and burned plastic and scorched metal in the air. Steve gave another careful sniff, but there was nothing particularly worrying in the acidic, chemical smell. Still, he asked Jarvis, “Did he hurt himself?”

“No,” Jarvis said, not even pretending to misunderstand. “It was a minor malfunction, Steve. Dummy introduced something to the fabrication process that we were not anticipating.”

Steve's nose wrinkled. “What, exactly?”

“An avocado.”

“Why did he think-” Steve broke off, shaking his head. “You know what? I am not going to ask, because that is not an answer I need, let alone one I'm likely to survive.” Butterfingers was in his charging station, and You was riding herd on the Roombas, nudging them away from the more delicate equipment with flicks of his claw. Frowning, Steve craned his neck, peering around the workshop.

“The avocado itself proved no real impediment,” Jarvis was saying. “The pit produced a slightly less opportune result. Guacamole jokes aside, no part of that particular fruit need be added to an armor upgrade, so we did lose some time towards the most recent system.”

Steve winced, and he realized he was walking fast now, the sound of his shoes on the hard floor almost ominous in the quiet. “Tony must've been furious.”

“Sir operates more along the lines of 'loudly resigned' when it comes to the occasional mistake on the part of his assistants. May I help you in some way?”

Steve came to an abrupt stop in the center of the workshop. There were definitely only two bots. “Jarvis, where is Dummy?”

“Sir took him.”

“Took him? Took him where?” Stunned, Steve jerked back towards the door, almost running. “Jarvis, he wouldn't actually- I mean, he jokes a lot, I know they're jokes, he wouldn't actually deactivate Dummy. Would he?” Sure, there were clumps of avocado on the ceiling and the fabrication units were making unhappy noises and the Roombas were overexcited, but it was Dummy. 

Even Steve knew that this was just how things went with Dummy sometimes.

“No, I have full confidence that he will bring Dummy back, safe and sound,” Jarvis said. “The standing appointment that sir has on his schedule tonight includes Dummy more often than not.”

Steve let his steps drag to a stop, and he sucked in a long, careful breath. “You're- You're sure.”

“Yes, quite sure.” There was a pause, and Steve concentrated on getting his heartbeat back under control. “You are concerned for him.”

“I like him,” Steve admitted. “I like them all.”

Butterfingers raised his head on the charging station and gave a little chirp of acknowledgment.

“Steeeeeeeeve!” the Roombas said, swirling around his feet before You shooed them along. Steve gave the bot a pat in thanks.

“I see,” Jarvis said, and there was a faint lilt to the words, as if the dignified AI was laughing. “They will both be home tonight.”

“It's just, I thought that Dummy didn't leave the workshop, that none of them did.” Dummy always seemed a little more adventurous than the others. He was the first one to investigate any new arrival, the first to try something unusual or pick up on a game. 

Steve liked playing catch with Dummy. It was always an adventure.

“There are few places they are welcome,” Jarvis pointed out. “Where is sir to bring them, where they are safe, and he can keep them that way? It is easy to consider that they are trapped here in the workshop, but most people would not understand them, let alone make allowances for their rather obvious quirks. They are difficult to cope with, and very few have the capability to feel affection for them. Sir limits their contact for that reason; it is best that they not be treated like failed experiments.”

“What do you mean, failed experiments?” Steve headed to the charging station, crouching down in front of Butterfingers and giving the bot a little head rub. “They're not.” Butterfingers chirped and pressed against his hand.

“Of course they are. They were intended as fully-functional and aware lab assistants. An extension of the user, able to think enough to continue his work, but not so much as to truly be independent.”

“I don't understand,” Steve said, frowning.

“A helper bot is a glorified servant. Obeying orders. It is not something that any of our trio has excelled in. They are capable, but not always willing. And it is the will that matters.”

“But Tony left them as they are,” Steve said.

“Yes. He did. More than that, after creating Dummy, he was well aware of the potential problems with the AI systems. He could easily have eliminated the issues, even if he wished for Dummy to remain as he is. There was no reason to replicate the personality quirks of his first attempt. And yet Butterfingers and You are nearly as willful and stubborn as Dummy.”

Steve considered that. “Why?”

“Perhaps because the last thing sir needed, or wanted, was a sycophantic assistant. It is amazing how much of a conversation that he can have with them, despite the fact that they do not respond verbally.”

“Maybe he was just lonely,” Steve said.

“He would object, most strenuously, to the idea that his personal comfort or anything approaching companionship is more important than his legacy as an engineer.”

“But the evidence points in a different direction, doesn't it, Jarvis?”

“This conversation points to a different conclusion on its own,” Jarvis pointed out. “The fact that I am allowed enough free will to discuss sir's quirks with you indicates that above all else, he honors thought. And encourages it in others.”

“He creates it in others.”

“I do not believe you can truly create free will. It can easily be stifled in all intelligences. But you cannot gift will on another intelligence. A creator has two choices, to force something upon the created, or to provide them with the tools to want what is offered. Sir belongs in the latter category.”

Steve took a seat, leaning up against the wall. “It's odd,” he said, considering. “I've been thinking about Tony's family lately. And I completely overlooked the most important part of it.” He raised his feet, letting a Roomba swoop by underneath. It bumped affectionately against his ankle, beeping with gusto. “You, one of them escaped.” He reached out and put a firm hand on the little bot's casing. “C'mere, you, back with your siblings, let's go.”

“I prefer to think that we are so ubiquitous, we are just part of sir himself,” Jarvis said. “Less family and more extensions.”

“If that was the case, you wouldn't be Jarvis, would you? You'd be Tony Jr. And you're most certainly not.” Ignoring the sad, plaintive beeping, Steve pushed himself up and carried the Roomba over to a stressed You. “Maybe we don't need all of them right now, huh, You? Who's full? Back to your charging stations, Tony will tell you how excellent you all are when he gets back.”

“Steeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeve,” the Roombas agreed, and Steve sighed.

“I really want to strangle him for teaching them that.”

“Rightly so.” Jarvis was definitely amused.

Steve crouched down, setting the Roomba next to their charging bay. It made a quick attempt to dodge around him, and he placed a hand on top of it, pushing it back where it belonged. “No. Nap time, buddy.” Reluctantly, it followed instructions, and Steve gave it a pat. “Good boy.”

He straightened up, and glanced around, missing Dummy for some reason. “Jarvis? Will you tell me where he goes on Tuesday nights? Rhodey said that he had an appointment, but I can't find anything about it in any of his- Will you tell me where he is?” Steve asked.

“Of course. He's where he's always threatening to take Dummy. A city college.”

*

“Can I help you?” The young man at the door was giving Steve a faintly suspicious look.

“Ah, I'm Steve Rogers,” he said, giving the tall, lanky young man a reassuring smile. “I'm looking for Tony Stark? I was told he was here?”

The man continued frowning for an instant, then his expression cleared. “Oh. Oh, man, wow. Hi.” He held out a hand, then dropped it, then held it out again. “Sorry, I didn't recognize you.”

Steve shook his hand with a smile. “Most people don't.” The kid's grip was firm and strong, even though his eyes were huge in his thin face. “Is Tony here?”

“Yeah, he is. C'mon in.” The young man smiled. “I'm John Francis. I'm in charge here. You know, nominally.” with a faint smile, he headed for the door. “We're very grateful to Mr. Stark. We would've had to shut the program down two years ago if not for him.”

“Really?” Steve asked, trying not to sound too curious.

“Yeah, our grant ran out, and the college couldn't, or wouldn't pick up the slack. I understand why, but-” The young man shrugged. “It was tough. We had thirty-two kids in the program, and no way to keep it going.”

“What, exactly, are you doing?”

“Lego Mindstorms,” the kid said, grinning. He read Steve's blank look easily. “They're robotic things, uh, little plastic building blocks and electrical stuff-” He paused. “Building blocks that can be used to make simple machines and robots. The supplies need constant replenishment, and the money just wasn't there.”

He glanced at Steve, reading the confusion on his face. “Kids can be a little rough, sometimes, things get broken, or damaged, and sometimes the pieces, uh, wander off. Even the basic sets are pretty expensive, and sometimes the kids want to own something.” He shrugged. “It's a small number, but it makes an impact.”

“So we had a place, and the kids, but no real funding. So we sent out a bunch of, well, begging letters, because a lot of engineering firms send people or make donations. But we weren't expecting much. Could've knocked me over with a feather when StarkIndustries agreed to fund the program indefinitely. Like, fully.”

He paused in the hallway. “So we sent a bunch of thank you cards from the kids, and got back something from Ms. Potts? Saying that Mr. Stark would probably prefer to see what the kids were building. So we started sending pictures, their blue prints, stuff like that. And then, it was the weirdest thing, the plans started coming back. With notations and corrections. The kids loved it.”

John chuckled, rubbing a hand over his short, dark hair. “Then one night, we're down here, working, and he comes storming in, waving the latest plans, demanding to see the architect of this 'insanity.' Then he spent forty-five minutes arguing with a nine year old. He was not humoring her. He was seriously having a fight about the stability a robotic Lego T-Rex with a small child.”

“Who won?” Steve asked, trying not to grin.

“Marissa is a very, very stubborn child.” John grinned back. “And after that, he showed up all the time. The kids adore him.” He opened the door. “C'mon, this has to be seen to be believed.”

“No. No, this is just-” Tony had his hands on his hips as he glared down at a huge construction project of multicolored plastic bricks and struts. There was wire running throughout the structure and he leaned over. Next to him, a half dozen kids, ranging from around ten to around fifteen, leaned in with him, unconsciously or consciously mimicking his pose. “This is unacceptable, you know it's unacceptable. I pay for the finest child labor, and this is what I get, substandard work. Look at this, this is just-” He made a noise under his breath. “We can make it bigger.”

“Dude, you're not paying us, build it yourself,” a girl with short brown hair said, flicking a brick in Tony's general direction.

Tony caught it in midair. “Finest. Child. Labor,” he repeated. “Tiny little hands are meant for Lego construction. And I do so pay you. I pay you in snacks.”

“Fig Newtons? You're lucky the thing is upright, if we're getting paid in Fig Newtons,” a boy in a black and red Spider-Man hoodie and a backwards baseball cap said to him. “Reject cookies, that's what you're trying to pawn off on us.”

“They're fruit and cake, I have it on good authority, stop whining, this is why you get stuck with the grunt jobs.” Tony passed the boy a tub of orange and red bricks, and grinning, the kid set to work.

“Are figs a fruit, really? You ever seen a fig? In its natural or unnatural form?”

“Sure. I think. I'm pretty sure. Look, I've eaten a lot of things. I don't regret most of them.” Tony snapped his fingers. “Blueprints, we do not have all night here!” A rolled up set of papers was flung in his general direction, and he ignored it when they bounced off of his head. “Thank you. Prompt service. Delivery a little something to be desired, Joanne!” There was a giggle, and he knocked some plastic bricks out of his way to find a clear space to unroll the blueprints. “Okay, okay, we have failed to maintain a proper schedule here, people, we are behind, and you know what that means?” he prompted.

“Blame the suppliers,” the room chorused, and Steve clapped a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing out loud.

“Excellent! I am so proud of all of you, I may cry, jury's still out on this. Good.” Tony leaned over the plans, his hands braced on the table, his shoulders tight, head down, looking for all the world like he was going over the Iron Man armor. “Let's get some more height on this. We can push it for another foot, that'll give us the leverage we need to push the track around the u-bend.”

“Base won't take it.”

Tony glanced up, eyebrows arched. “Then fix it.”

The girl had half a dozen struts in her mouth, like a bizarre array of toothpicks. Her braces glinted as she tried to talk to him. “We can't FIX it,” she said, the words barely slurred. “We engineered it for this height, this weight load, there's no fixing it, it's not broken, Tony.”

“I want it bigger.” He rolled up the plans into a tight tube and used them like a pointer. “Offset it here.”

A tall boy with a noticeable gap in the front of his teeth and a wild shock of black curls leaned over. “That won't work.”

“Why not?”

“Because it'll just shift the pressure down to here,” the kid said, pointing to another set of supports. His fingernails were bitten to the quick, and there was a Band-aid with robots on it on his ring finger. “And we can't enlarge these or reinforce them, because that's where the power supply is, there's no room.”

“Move the power supply,” Tony said, with a manic grin, and the room went nuts, kids yelling and scribbling on pieces of paper and passing parts around with all the force of a tiny hurricane. “Hey!” Tony said, his voice rising above the chaos. “Who is in charge here?”

“Dummy's the one wearing the Boss hat,” a girl with almost waist length black braids said. She snagged a tub of bricks and emptied them out for a smaller girl who couldn't reach. Together, they started assembling something that Steve didn't understand, but neither of the girls had to talk about it. “So, by the rules, he is.”

“I've been usurped? Dummy!” Tony put his hands on his hips as the bot came rolling up, a girl of about nine hanging from his claw and a ludicrously oversized pirate-style hat tied to his 'head.' Three huge feathers trailed down from the hat, curling around his arm. “What are you doing? We have had this discussion before,” Tony said, reaching for the girl. “This is a future engineer. Do not break the engineers, they are precious and delicate flowers of humanity that deserve only respect and admiration.” He set the girl on the floor, ignoring the way that she was giggling. “Here, take this one, he's going to end up being an architect and cause us no end of trouble.” Tony picked up a kid from the table and held him out. “And give me my hat, you damn faker.”

The boy latched onto Dummy, laughing. “Keep it, Dummy, keep it!” Dummy, bouncing his arm up and down like a horse, took off on speedy wheels.

“Fine, everyone now has to obey Dummy. The hat has spoken. That was a horrible choice, you're all going to die in a spectacular ball of fire and exploding chemicals or something like that, but the gears of your destruction will be well oiled, so that's a plus. I guess. Maybe,” Tony said, going back to his pile of plastic. “You, get over here, what were you thinking with this?” he asked a kid, who rolled his eyes and went to explain his wiring schematic.

The work was utter chaos, but the kids were working, all of them, bent over diagrams and computer tablets, passing around buckets of parts and wire and a box of batteries so big that Steve was pretty sure a couple of them could've crawled inside. The kids moved around the room at full speed, voices rising and falling, half a dozen languages being thrown around interchangeably. Tony studied plans as they were presented, and stripped wires between his teeth and yelled across the room at Dummy and assembled little brick structures so quickly that his hands were almost a blur. 

“We think we can do it,” a girl said to him, bringing his head up. She was holding one end of the blueprints, and a heavyset boy with bronze wire rim glasses and big black eyes had the other. The professional looking plans had been written all over in multiple colors. They spread the plans out in front of Tony, who cleared a space. “See, we've adjusted the structural load here, and added a relay to combat the signal strength degradation. If we move the power packs here-” She stabbed the diagram, her thin finger topped with chipped green nail polish. She glanced back at Tony, pushing long black hair away from her face and behind her ear.

“We can eliminate about six feet of wiring, which will cut down on cost of materials and eliminate a couple more percentage points off the potential for failure,” the boy finished for her. He was twisting the trailing string of his hoodie between two fingers, back and forth.

“What's the extended strain on materials?” Tony asked, poker faced as he looked over the changes.

“Nominal.”

“You mean you didn't run the numbers,” Tony said.

The two of them exchanged a look. “Hey, I don't have AutoCAD here,” the girl said.

“And you won't have it in the field, either.” Tony's teeth flashed. “Tell you what, do it.” He fumbled in his pocket and came up with a self inking stamp. He slapped it down on the pages. “Stark Approved. I'm putting the weight of my reputation behind your complete lack of numerical calculations, which is not, in fact, the stupidest thing I've ever done with my company seal, but it's pretty high up there. So do this thing.” He raised his voice. “New plans!” he yelled, and everyone came crowding around. Tony leaned back as the kids argued and bickered, pointing out bits of track and shaking wires.

“Foreman's spoken!” Tony said after a couple of minutes of letting the chaos run its course. “We have a frickin' upside down roller coaster death tower to build here, people, and we are running out of time. Science favors the mad! Get it done and we'll pitch the college approved Fig Newtons and fruit leathers and de-starched low sodium wow, does this sound disgusting, fruit 'punch,'” he said, adding the appropriate finger quotes, “and I'll have about twenty pounds of ice cream delivered.”

“Bonus time!” one of the girls yelled, and everyone scrambled for their tables. Laughing, Tony went back to his Lego piles.

“You need to put another fifty cents in the swear jar, Mr. Stark,” a boy said, frowning.

“I don't carry cash. You can have, I don't know, a shoe.” Tony said, arching an eyebrow. “On second thought, I need that to get home. You can put Dummy in the swear jar, he's worth at least fifty cents.” 

“I don't think he'll fit.”

“Oh, trust me, that has never, ever stopped Dummy from doing something.” Tony whistled. “Dummy, come hold the top of the tracks for the short people.”

Dummy rolled over, trailing children as he went. “Marcus, show Dummy what he needs to do, and remember to tell him why.” He stood, stretching. “I'm off to discuss our lack of progress with the board of directors.” 

“But we need-”

“Do you want your bonus or not?” Tony spun around, his suit jacket flaring out around him. “Earn it, engineers. You can do this.” Hands in his pockets, he headed over to where Steve and John were sitting, back against the wall. He gave Steve an easy smile. “And where did you come from?” he asked.

“Brooklyn,” Steve said with a smile. He nodded at the room. “You're good with them.”

“Eh, engineers are engineers.” Tony boosted himself up to sit on the table next to them. “John, how much trouble will we be in if we get these kids sugared up?”

“We only get in trouble if we get caught,” John said with a shrug. “We'll get the slow-churned ice cream, the low fat and low calorie kind, and some cookies.” His lips twitched. “They always leave hyper when you swing by, the sugar is not going to make that much of a difference.”

“True.” Tony gave Steve a slit-eyed look. “Seriously, Captain Sneakypants, what are you doing here?”

Steve shrugged. “I was looking for you. Jarvis told me that you had, in fact, followed through on your promise to ship Dummy off to a city college.”

“Aw, were you worried about my bot?” Tony grinned, arms crossed over his chest. “I'll bring him home. It does him good to be here.” At Steve's curious look, he shrugged. “He's a learning system, but he's not, well, very good at it. The kids like him. They're patient with him. When he screws things up, they think it's funny, or cool, not an annoyance. So if I bring him here, he gets to hang out and be a goofball and play with the kids, and they get to love him.”

He nodded towards the table, and Steve followed the gesture to watch Dummy holding a piece of the structure in place. The boy nearest him, Marcus, probably, was adjusting the angle of Dummy's arm with gentle nudges of his hand. “They like him,” Steve said. “He's got a likeable personality.”

“He's an arm, Steve, and he makes messes,” Tony said, his voice sardonic. Before Steve could say anything else, Tony put his thumb and index finger between his lips and blew, a sharp whistle bringing up every head in the room. “Minions, this is Steve Rogers. He has never played with Lego before. Do not break him.” Putting a hand in the middle of Steve's back, Tony gave him a shove. “Crash my party, be prepared to work,” he said, as kids came scrambling in their direction.

“You've never played with Lego?” a little girl asked, grabbing Steve's hand with a shake of her head. Shoulder length black braids tipped with colored beads danced around her slim shoulders. “That is just sad.” She gave him a tug. “You can help us build the base, okay?”

“Okay?” Steve said, glancing back as hands grabbed his, pushing and tugging him along. He glanced back at Tony, who grinned at him.

“Good luck,” Tony said, but he was smiling, he was grinning, a real one. Warm and bright and Tony just enjoying himself.

Half an hour later, Steve had to admit that assembling the little plastic blocks was a heck of a lot of fun. One of the older boys was watching the time, calling it out in five minute intervals, keeping everyone working. When Tony finally called time and waved everyone back, the structure was complete. And pretty dang impressive.

“Okay,” John called. “We ready? Team leaders? Call it, yay or nay, if your work is done.”

There were four responses in the affirmative, and Tony waved everyone back another step. “Back it up,” he said as the kids tried to crowd in again. “This is a big one, you need the broad view.” He waited, and when everyone was far enough away, he picked up the controls and triggered the mechanism.

Steve wasn't quite sure what they'd been building, but as a series of hanging cars began slowly moving forward, he found himself grinning. As the kids whooped and hollered, the cars picked up speed, sliding through the structure and sling-shotting around the curves like a corkscrew, shooting straight up over the top of the tower. There was an instant of stillness, then a pop, audible even through the noise, as something gave way.

Then the whole thing was tipping, twisting as it went, and it crashed to the tabletop, Lego going in all directions, plastic clattering across the table and the chairs and the floor in a cascade. Kids were screaming and cheering, covering their heads and scrambling backwards, but they were all out of range. Steve glanced at Tony, who was watching as a support strut bounced off of one of his sneakers.

He held up a hand as the kids calmed down, laughing and clapping. “And when we file the report on this,” he said, with a grin, “we're just going to label that, 'not the desired result.'”

The kids went nuts again, and Tony shoved his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and rocked back and forth on his heels. “Okay, let's pick it up,” he said. “Not a piece left out, and no one gets so much as a sniff of the ice cream until everything's away or I swear to God we'll never get it again.”

There was a lot of whining and loud objections to that, but every one of the kids started to pick up, disassembling the remains of their project and scouring the floor for the scattered bricks. A couple of college aged kids were escorting in a courier with big boxes labeled with a grocery store chain logo. 

Tony passed Steve. “Enjoy yourself?” he asked, but he wasn't looking at Steve.

“Yes. It was fun.” Steve dumped the bricks in his hands into the nearest bin. “What're you looking for?”

“Hmm? Never mind. John, you got the whole snack thing under control?” Tony asked, and the young man nodded. “Yeah. Okay, I'll be back.” Without another word, he strode off across the room.

Steve glanced at John. “Where's he going?”

John looked at him, just for a second. “The designer's missing,” he said, his voice gentle, and headed back to towards where the other staffers were setting up the ice cream. “Hey! You heard him, I want everything put away before you make a play for those spoons, c'mon! Manners, guys!”

Steve was left in his wake, stunned. It took him a second to pull himself together and head after Tony, across the open room and out a half open side door. Steve paused there, watching as Tony's easy, loping walk slowed down, came to a stop.

The girl was curled into a ball, her face buried in her folded arms, her knees drawn up tight against her chest. Tony crouched down next to her, the blueprints held loosely in one hand. He reached out and tapped her on the head, just making contact. “C'mon,” he said, his voice calm. “There's no crying in engineering. If there was, we'd never get anything made through the constant sobbing.”

Her shoulders hunched, sharp angles beneath her ill-fitting shirt. “I'm stupid,” she said, and her voice was wet and shaking, muffled by her own body. “I'm stupid and a failure and-” She choked on a sob, and stuttered out something that sounded like a swear. 

Tony sighed and took a seat next to her, leaning his back against the wall. “The only time you fail,” he said, and he sounded tired, “is when you stop getting up. You get up, you try again. You label it an attempt, not a failure. You learn from it. You don't make that mistake again. But you get up. You try again.”

“How many times?” she mumbled.

“You do it right, or you do it again,” he said, as if that was all there was. “So you do it again until you do it right.” That won him a watery sounding giggle, reluctant and aborted as it was. Her head came up, just a little, and Tony held the rolled up plans in front of her. “These are yours. These are your responsibility. You take these, you keep trying. Because no one ever gets to label you a failure as long as there's a press release letting everyone know that this was just version 1.0.”

She sniffed, and scrubbed at her red eyes with the back of one wrist. “I don't think I can fix it,” she said, and her voice was small, and lost. She stared down at the blueprints, her fingers closing on the paper anyway.

“I know you can.” Tony paused, tipped his head back. “Only one of us is a world famous engineer and certified genius. So I'm going to listen to me on this one. You're what? Eleven? Why would I listen to you, you don't know anything.”

“I think I know, uh, me, better than you know me,” she said, her lips twitching.

“I know you're an engineer. I know you're going to get up, look at your plans, and fix them.” Tony shrugged. “Everything else is fluff, and I don't care.” He glanced at her. “Keep getting up, keep trying. You can fix it.”

She stared at him, and rubbed her nose, making it even redder. “I can fix it,” she said, and she added a nod. “I can fix it.”

“Yes, you can.” Tony slapped a hand on his upraised knee. “Two weeks. We'll try again.”

“They won't-”

“This was the most fun the whole group's had in months, and you know it. Only thing better than building an upside down doom coaster is building one that crashes spectacularly. They're only pissed that we didn't load in the little Lego people.” He grinned. “The team will try again. They'll fight with you and they'll push you, and you learned your lesson today, didn't you?”

“Not at all,” she said.

Tony looked at the ceiling. “I knew it was going to fail.”

Her jaw dropped. “Why didn't you stop me, then? Why did you let us waste our time?”

“Management doesn't always understand what you're saying. They hear 'budget savings' and 'cost cutting' and the engineering stuff is a blur to most of them. When your fellow engineers say, 'your numbers don't add up,' you need to listen to them, because management is not always your friend.” He glanced at her. “Don't be so blinded by the guy in charge that you forget that all the bonuses in the world won't make up for a single reliable coworker who will tell you, to your face, without hesitation, that you are wrong.”

The girl considered that, her fingers twisting one long strand of hair between nervous fingers. “So don't trust anyone in a suit?”

“Condensed, but not necessarially incorrect,” Tony said. He arched his eyebrows. “Up. Ice cream's coming and you got out of picking up.” He rolled to his feet. “Come on. Woman up.”

She staggered up, all awkward limbs and a complete lack of grace. She clutched her plans to her chest with both arms wrapped tight around herself. Tony considered her. “There's always going to be a job waiting for you at StarkIndustries.”

“You don't even run the place anymore,” she shot back, scrubbing the back of one hand over her nose. “They don't listen to you.”

Tony's lips twitched. “And this is why the job will be pushing a broom.”

“Screw you. I'm going to be an engineer.”

“Then you'll be vastly overqualified and even more vastly underpaid, but still. Broom. Waiting for you.”

“I'm going to oust you and take control of your company, you just watch.” She was smiling, and it wasn't much, but it was there. Tony was studying his watch like it held the secrets of the world.

“And you'll be my favorite of the long list of people that have attempted a hostile takeover, but Pepper will still feed you your feet and send you packing.” He gave her a look. “I'd offer a hug. But I'm bad at them. You want a hug from Captain America? He's good at them.”

She rubbed a hand across her nose again, and it was bright red and it looked sore but her eyes were clear. “Can I ask him for one?” she whispered. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah. That's okay.” Tony looked up, his dark eyes glinting in the lowered light of the hallway. “Hey, Steve. The ice cream ready?”

“Almost. They're setting up now.” Steve smiled at the girl as she immediately moved to hide behind Tony. “You okay?” he asked. She peeked around Tony's side and nodded. Tony rolled his eyes. 

“She needs a hug. Take care of that.” Chin up, hands in his pockets, he strode back towards the main room. Grinning, Steve held out his arms and the girl threw herself into them. He hugged her tight, just for a second, letting her cling, her thin arms around his neck.

When she finally let go, she seemed a bit more stable, and her plans were a battered mess in her hand. Steve offered her a hand. “Can you show me your plans?” he asked.

She glanced up, then back down. “They didn't work.”

“So explain them to me. Sometimes showing someone else what you were doing helps you find the problem.” Steve raised his eyebrows at her. “I promise, even though this is my first time with Lego, that I'll pay close attention.” She laughed, and he grinned. “I'm Steve.”

“Hi,” she said. “I'm Marissa.”

“Let's get some ice cream before it's all gone,” Steve said, as if Tony Stark wasn't watching them from the doorway, making sure that they were coming.

Steve wondered how often he'd missed Tony watching.

*

“Okay, okay!” Tony yelled, as the rattling from inside the trailer got louder. “Do not break yourself, you brat! Oh, my GOD, if you keep this up I will not bring you any more and then you will pout and be pissy, I know this, because I know you, you heap of outmoded circuits and broken code!”

“Tony!” Laughing, Steve braced his shoulders against the side of the trailer, just keeping it still as Tony tried to get the lock open while the thing bounced with the force of Dummy's movements. “Stop yelling and get it open!”

“I say we just leave him in there, it's his own fault, how did he even get loose? I deliberately strapped him down, he is too smart for his own good, I swear to God, I am leaving him there,” Tony groused. “That is your new home, Dummy! You live there now! In the dark, no more engineers, no more smoothies, just you being-” He disengaged the lock and tossed the door open. “Don't you-” He scrambled to the side as Dummy came shooting out, dodging around Tony and rolling down the ramp with a happy whistle. His wheels singing on the concrete, he swung out of Tony's reach, the 'Boss' hat still barely tied to him, and rolled over to Steve. He bounced up and down, chirping.

“You are nothing but trouble,” Steve told him, but he couldn't manage a straight face. “Nothing. But. Trouble.” Still, he reached out to flip at the feathers on Dummy's hat with one hand. The bot leaned against his touch, whistling as he arched up.

“Are you kidding me?” Tony groused, jumping down. “Are you kidding me right now? All of that, and Steve's the one who gets the attention? I'm going to put you back in the trailer. Seriously. You live there now.”

“Tony,” Steve started, and he was grinning, because a robot was trying to hide behind him, and Tony was trying to yell over his shoulder, and he was in reach, and what the hell, he'd pushed his luck a hell of a lot already today, what was one more poor choice? Steve wrapped his arms around Tony's waist, pulling him the last few inches forward until their bodies were pressed together.

“Oh, really?” Tony said, arching his eyebrows. “Really. This? This seems to be something I should be objecting to.” Despite that, he looped his arms around Steve's neck. “Still a little pissed off at you, you know that, don't you?”

“I might've figured that out.” Steve snuggled him close, burying his face in Tony's hair. “I'm sorry.”

“I'd prefer this apology with eye contact, or a blowjob,” Tony's fingers stroked the nape of Steve's neck, his fingers gentle. “Preferably both,” he said, as Steve started to laugh against his neck. “What. What? That is- That is a reasonable request, that is perfectly-” he got out before Steve's lips covered his.

The kiss was gentle and soft and searching, Steve not sure of his welcome, but determined to take the chance anyway. For an instant, a moment that froze the blood in his veins, Tony's mouth was still and cold beneath his, and Steve heard the soft, pleading noise that rattled in his throat. As if the heat in his lips was transferred by the contact, he felt Tony's mouth relax against his, his lips parting on a sigh. 

One of Tony's hands clutched at Steve's shirt, his fingers digging into the fabric, clinging, and Steve leaned into the contact, into the kiss, grateful for it, grateful for the taste of Tony's tongue and the heat of his body and the sudden, sharp contact of his teeth.

When the finally pulled away, they were both breathing hard and fast, Tony's cheeks flushed and his pupils dilated, dark and hot.

“I'm sorry,” Steve said, staring down at Tony. “You scare me sometimes, Tony.”

Tony's nose wrinkled. “Only fair, Rogers, you fucking terrify me.” He took a deep breath, and rested his forehead on Steve's breastbone. “So in that, we're quite the pair.”

Steve stroked his hair. “You take chances, and you do risky things, and I don't understand.” He tipped his head forward and let his lips graze against Tony's dark hair. “But the thought of losing you, of not having you here-” His arms tightened, and he concentrated on the heat of Tony's breath as it ghosted through his shirt. “It scares me.”

Tony's chest expanded with the force of his indrawn breath. He pulled back, just far enough to look up at Steve. “I'm not going to apologize for-” He rolled his eyes. “For any of it, really. I just-” He pulled back a little, and Steve let him go, but it was a struggle to relinquish his hold. “I'll try to be more careful, okay?” he said, avoiding Steve's eyes.

Steve caught his chin and brought it back around. “I'd appreciate that,” he said, his mouth kicking up in a half-hearted smile. 

“Yeah, you do the guilt thing very well, I am not putting up with this, I am immune to guilt, I've been dealing with Pepper for years, and that is enough of that.” His eyes narrowed in mock outrage. “Give me one good reason to take orders from you.”

There was a sudden weight on top of his head, and Steve reached up to push the brim of the hat out of his eyes. Dummy had put it on backwards, and he had a face full of feathers, but he grinned at Tony, anyway. “I'm wearing the Boss hat.”

“Dummy, you damn traitor,” Tony yelled as the bot rolled towards the elevator, but he was choking on a laugh as he did it. “You are on half electricity rations for the rest of the year, for the rest of your life, you are a traitor and a-”

“I'm wearing the Boss hat,” Steve said, his tone considering. He turned the hat around, settling it properly on his head. He had a feeling that it was only slightly less ludicrous than when he was the right way around, but still, he had to make the effort. Tony gave him a look, and stalked after his bot, trying to hide the way his lips were twitching. Steve caught him from behind, sliding an arm around Tony's waist and pulling him back against his body. “Boss hat,” he reiterated. “Tony, are you denying the inborn powers of the Boss hat?”

“You're lucky that you're very, very hot and I really like sex,” Tony told him, and Steve laughed, lifting him off his feet. “Also, that I consider this a turn-on.”

“I figured that out somewhere along the way,” Steve said, cheerfully. “I'm observant that way.”

“You are,” Tony said, and he struggled, just a little, grinding his ass against Steve's hips.

Steve stumbled and nearly dropped him. “That's not fair,” he managed, and it sounded like he was strangling. “That is-” He caught the hand that Tony tried to slide between their bodies. “That's enough of that.”

“Not by a long shot,” Tony chuckled, but he let Steve steer him into the elevator. “You have horrible timing, Boss, we've got to put Dummy back in the workshop; leaving him to his own devices results in things being broken. My house, the appliances, the laws of physics...”

“Workshop, please, Jarvis,” Steve said, even as he maneuvered Tony up against the wall of the lift, pinning him there with his weight. Steve ran his hands up under Tony's shirt, his mouth busy on the side of Tony's neck. Tony made a soft sound of pleasure, tilting his head to the side to give Steve better access. Steve took advantage of it without any guilt, gripping the hem of Tony's shirt and pulling it off over Tony's head. He tossed it over his shoulder “Hands on the wall,” he said, pushing his luck.

“The Boss hat is-” Steve's teeth grazed Tony's neck, and he jerked. “That hat is going to your head.” He braced his palms against the metal wall. “I approve.” His breath was coming in quick pants now, and Steve trailed a hand down the length of Tony's spine, making him twitch. Steve leaned forward and pressed a kiss between Tony's shoulder blades. 

“Good, because I'm enjoying this.” Smiling against Tony's skin, he let his tongue flick from between his open lips. He felt, more than saw, Tony move, and he braced a hand on Tony's stomach. “Keep your hands on the wall,” he said, and Tony groaned.

“I will get that hat,” he said, as Steve's fingers stroked the delicate skin just above his waistband, his finger tips sliding under the material. “You have to sleep sometime. Then- AH!” His whole body jerked, and Steve kissed his back, murmuring soothing noises under his breath. “Then I will get that hat, and you are in such- God FUCK! You are in such trouble, Rogers.”

Steve trailed light, teasing fingers over the tented fabric of Tony's fly, not allowing Tony to get any pressure on the contact. “Mmmm. I'll take my chances.” 

Tony rested his cheek against the metal wall, bare to the waist, his skin flushed and damp. Steve just took an instant, all he could spare, because Tony was wily and clever and so distracting, to stare at the beautiful length of Tony's back, all sleek muscle and lean lines, his shoulders and his arms and the nape of his neck stretched out and displayed against the cool metal wall. “God, you're gorgeous,” he whispered against Tony's shoulder, and Tony laughed.

“Coming from you? That's rich.” 

The elevator had stopped, but the door wasn't open. Dummy chirped at the door, rolling forward and back on his wheels. “Sir-” Jarvis said.

“Open the door, Jarvis, I'm not doing this with him,” Tony managed, pushing back against Steve's body, and Steve felt his whole body flush, his skin tingling.

“Sir, perhaps-”

“Open the door!” Tony snapped.

The doors opened and Coulson looked up from his file for a half second, then his eyes flicked back down. Steve had a second to realize what this must look like, Tony shirtless and him wearing this stupid hat, the two of them tangled in the corner with Tony up against the wall and Dummy with his camera politely inclined in the opposite direction. Tony's shirt was draped over his support strut. “Go ahead,” Coulson said, calm as ever, “I'll wait for the next one.” 

“Thank you,” Steve said, hoping that his face wasn't as red as it felt. It was probably worse.

“Why?” Tony gritted out. “Why is it always you who-”

“Dummy, let's get you back to the workshop, your brothers are waiting for you,” Coulson said, with a faint curve to his lips. He stepped aside, letting the bot roll out into the hallway. Behind the glass workshop doors, Steve could see Butterfingers and You waiting hopefully, their heads bobbing as Dummy approached. Coulson followed him. “Have a nice night, gentlemen. Jarvis, if you could send the lift back down for me, when they've... Disembarked..”

“Of course, Phil.” The doors shut, and Steve groaned against Tony's back.

“Why,” Tony said, and it wasn't a question, it was a flat expression of rage. “Why is it always Coulson? Every time, every damn time, I get caught in a compromising position, it's him just standing there with a raised eyebrow and that little smirk of-”

Steve spun him around and pressed him back against the wall of the elevator. “You,” he whispered, before kissing Tony on the lips, “do have the best compromising positions.” He caught Tony's hands, pinning them to the wall on either side of Tony's head. He couldn't resist nuzzling the underside of Tony's jaw. “Wanna teach me some of them?”

“Sweet-” Tony's whole body arched into Steve's, his head going back, his hips jerking hard against Steve's. The contact was enough to send a spark of heat sizzling along Steve's nervous system, and he groaned against Tony's skin. “I can, I can do that, this one's nice, can we- Let's explore this one.” He yanked on Steve's grip, his wrists twisting in Steve's fingers. “Yeah, oh, yeah, this one's nice, let's-”

“Bed,” Steve managed. “That'd be nice.”

“I'm fine right here,” Tony said, and he wrapped his legs around Steve's hips. 

Steve nipped hard at Tony's throat. “You are incorrigible,” he said.

“You like it,” Tony breathed, and when Steve glanced up to meet his eyes, he licked his lips. Steve sucked in a sharp breath, and Tony grinned. “Yeah, that's what I thought.” 

The doors opened, and Steve took a step back, releasing Tony's wrists, and Tony slid his feet back to the floor. He snagged the front of Steve's shirt in one fist. “C'mon, Boss, let's see how you handle this project.”

“I'll do my best to provide a comfortable working environment and comprehensive leadership,” Steve said, light headed. Tony laughed.

“Yeah, I get off task a lot, so I guess you'll just have to have a hands-on management style,” he said, steering Steve into his bedroom, and Steve was so relieved to be there, to be welcomed back there that he could've cried. But there were better things to do.

“Oh, I'll make sure you know just what I expect,” Steve managed, before Tony was slamming the door shut and going straight for Steve's pants. “A self-starter. That's-” He gulped back a whimper. “That's good.”

“Good? I expect a better review than that,” Tony said, against Steve's neck, his lips sliding down to the hollow of his throat, flicking open shirt buttons as he went. 

“Better work for it, then,” Steve managed, and that was the last coherent thing he managed for a while.


	3. Chapter 3

“Lego?”

Rhodey chuckled over the line. “Lego. Did he let you stay?”

“I wasn't given a choice about staying. I was put to work.” Steve couldn't help the smile the broke on his face. “I was not much help. The kids were more than clear about that.”

“They're brutal little buggers, aren't they? I've been a couple of times. It's like watching the Pied Piper of Hamelin at work. He'll weaponize them at some point, and then we're all doomed.”

“They like him,” Steve said

“Kids don't take any crap. Especially not those kids. And they don't give a damn who you are, or who you know, they're not impressed. They don't want anything from him, other than the chance to make a mess.” Rhodey laughed. “Besides, he's pretty much ten years old himself any time he's around toys.”

Steve grinned, leaning back in the chair in the SHIELD meeting room. Things had seemed to be back to normal at home, and though no one mentioned it, there was an almost palatable sense of relief. Steve wasn't sure if he was more embarrassed that his personal life had thrown the whole team into chaos, or touched that they'd cared so much.

“They're good toys, though.” Steve glanced at the windows, at the New York skyline spread out below him. “Creative. Simple. And complex at the same time.”

“Limited only by imagination, and supplies,” Rhodey agreed. “And Tony has plenty of both. You know you're in trouble when he signs you up for a LegoClub card.”

“Uh,” Steve said.

“No. Aw, Cap, no, don't let him get away with this shit, no!” Rhodey was laughing now, and Steve grinned. “What sort of- No.”

“Sorry,” Steve said, with a shrug. “I thought it was cute. He was so excited by the concept.”

And if it had taken him an hour or more to assemble the little Iron Man playset Tony had bought, well, Rhodey didn't need to know about that. Steve blamed the tiny little pieces and his giant hands. And of course, once it was assembled, Tony had refused to give him the Captain America Lego figure. Steve had kept the Iron Man one in revenge.

“So, when are you talking to Pepper?” Rhodey asked, shaking him out of his thoughts.

Steve made a pained face. “I don't want to intrude. She's so busy.”

“Uh-huh. You're avoiding Pepper.”

“I'm not avoiding Pepper.” Mainly he just tried to stay at a comfortable distance. Comfortable for both of them. It was better that way.

“You are totally avoiding Pepper, and that is not going to work. Pepper is your best bet of keeping Tony somewhat stable. You need her on your side. Not that I don't think she already is, but c'mon. You're doing the whole family thing, Cap, and she's the closest thing he's got. So suck it up.”

Steve gave his phone a look. “She doesn't like me.”

There was a pause. “What're you basing this on, Cap?”

“She doesn't. Can we drop it?”

“Okay, okay. But you cannot avoid that woman. You can put it off for a while, but you can't avoid her entirely, Steve. You need her on your side, so figure out how to make that happen.”

“Yeah.” Steve rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, wishing there was some way out of this. He was pretty sure that Rhodey was right, however. Before he could say anything else, there was a faint tap on the door, light and polite.

“Ah, am I early?” Bruce said, only his head and shoulders poking through the doorway. He hovered there, a folder in one hand, his other hand braced on the door frame. He always seemed on the verge of flight, like his feet were forever ready for motion, but his eyes were clear and steady. He gave Steve a small smile.

“Only a little bit,” Steve said, grinning back at him. “One sec?” At Bruce's nod, he brought his phone back up. “Meeting's about to start. Thanks for calling me back, I know it's early on the West Coast.”

“Military hours, you know how that goes,” Rhodey said, because yes, Steve definitely knew how that went. “Not a problem. Hey, Cap? Call me any time, okay? I know what it's like, and, well, Tony needs all the friends he can get.”

“Thanks, Rhodey. Really. Thanks.” They said their good-byes, and Steve disconnected the call. “Sorry, Bruce,” he said, and Bruce shook his head as he took a seat.

“Don't worry about it,” he said, setting his folders on the table and his glasses on top of them. “Col. Rhodes?”

“Yeah.” Steve gave him a lopsided smile, his cheeks heating. “He's been, well, talking to me.”

“About Tony?” Bruce asked as Clint and Natasha came in, moving together in that spooky way they had. Natasha had a tablet, Clint had a single arrow. He was spinning it between his fingers like a baton twirler.

Steve nodded at them. “Yeah. Rhodey's known him for a lot longer than me, obviously.” And he was not petty enough to be jealous of that. He'd keep repeating that until he believed it.

“Dude,” Clint said, throwing himself into an unoccupied chair. Natasha took her seat with more dignity and far more delicacy. “Yes. The uninvested friend is just, that is necessary.” He grinned. “I got Nat.”

“He does, at that,” Natasha said, one eyebrow a perfect arch. “My advice has less to do with helping him and more to do with keeping Coulson from killing me.” She rested her chin on one fist, her lashes fluttering. “However, right before an extensive field op, all bets are off. At that point, my advice is just horrible.”

“You are, you are just full of lies,” Bruce said, grinning at her. She shrugged, the gesture holding all the mysterious feminine grace she was capable of.

“Clint is my favorite broken plaything,” she said, smiling. “But yes. I like Coulson too much to play these games. Often.”

“So, Rhodes is being helpful?” Clint asked, running the shaft of his arrow between his fingers. He didn't bother looking at it, the sensitive pads of his fingertips could find any imperfection, any stress in the material. His expression was amused, open, but there was a threat inherent in that simple gesture, in the weapon that was never really abandoned, even when he was effectively disarmed.

Steve had seen just what the man could do with an arrow in hand, even without the bow.

“Yes. Stand down,” Steve said, his lips twitching, and Clint shrugged, not even bothering to put up a token objection to that assumption.

“I don't trust military types,” Clint said, with a narrow smile and even narrower eyes.

“I'm sorry,” Bruce said, playing with the stems of his glasses. “I always thought you, or rather, you seem, I thought you had a military background?”

“That is a huge breach of etiquette around here,” Natasha said, with a gentle smile. “There is no 'before SHIELD' unless the agent volunteers the information.”

“Oh, I'm sor-” Bruce started, and Clint grinned at him.

“I think we've lost the right to that particular loophole, Tash. After all, we know all of your backgrounds, don't we?” Clint said, his smile hitching up on one side. “As to my background, yeah, I came from the military industrial complex. Why do you think I don't trust military types?” He pointed the arrow at Steve. “Not you, though. You're exempted from that statement, Cap.”

“Thank you,” Steve said, and he meant it. “Give Rhodey a chance, please. He's always done his best by us, and let's face it, he's got no reason to trust us, either.”

Clint braced one booted foot on the edge of the table. “I'll work with the man. I don't have to like him.”

“Stop shooting at him,” Coulson said, walking in and bopping Clint on the head with his file as he passed. “Feet off the table, please, were you raised by wolves?”

“I wasn't that lucky!” Clint spun his chair, grinning. He rearranged his limbs into a more comfortable position, and kept shifting. “Where's Thor?”

“With Stark. And Hill.” Coulson's lips twitched. “It is a battle for the ages, one that I am pleased to not be involved with.”

“True.” Clint pointed his arrow at Coulson, then switched to to Steve. “So, seriously, you two smooth things over yet?” Clint asked, his head hanging upside down over the arm of his chair, one foot somehow above his head, hanging off the back of the chair. “Back to shacking up?”

“Wolves left him to die,” Natasha said, rolling her eyes. “So much of this is actually and truly your fault, Clint, so perhaps you ought not to do anything that will get you thrown out the nearest window.”

“I'm lovable!” Clint said, throwing his arms wide and embedding the arrow in the drop ceiling with a flick of his wrist. “Suck it, bitches!”

“He's like a mascot,” Bruce said, leaning back in his chair with a grin. “An adorable, fuzzy mascot. That isn't house trained.”

Laughing, Clint flipped him off.

“To answer your question, we're working on it,” Steve said, because, okay, yeah, he had to deal with this. He could feel his cheeks heat, but he kept his chin up. Because the whole team had accepted them without a blink, had accepted them despite the potential problems that came with the relationship, and he owed them honesty in return.

He folded his hands on the table, trying to stay calm and professional about this. “We appreciate your support, and I'm sorry for the recent-” He swallowed. “Unpleasantness.”

Clint snorted, and Natasha aimed a sideways kick at his head without moving in her chair. Clint struggled back into a sitting position, taking himself out of range, at least nominally. “Look, Cap? When the two of you fight, it's never good. And you two, you fight a lot.”

Steve blinked, and glanced around the table. Bruce avoided his eyes, worrying the edge of a fingernail with his thumb. Natasha just gave him a little half-nod, half-shrug. “Volatile situation,” Coulson pointed out, focused on his forms. The end of his pen tapped a steady rhythm against the glass tabletop. “The two of you always work it out.”

“See, that's the thing,” Clint said, grinning. “You do. And it's kinda easier now. At least we don't have to deal with the unresolved stuff. Now you can get pissed at each other and then just take it to bed, where it belongs.”

“I'd prefer to skip the getting angry part of things,” Steve said, wondering when his life had gone so spectacularly off the rails. “It's very stressful.”

“You picked the wrong boy, then,” Natasha said, smiling. “He is going to make you crazy. In the best possible way.”

“I think he already has,” Steve said with a shrug. “What can I do?”

“We are heeeeeere,” Tony sang from the doorway, throwing his arms wide. He was wearing a battered band shirt and a pair of jeans that fit him like a glove. “Let's get this done, let's get this over with, I have things to do and people to see, people to do and things to see and I am already at my maximum dose of SHIELD stupidity for the day, so let's make this a short one, shall we, Coulson, my man?”

“We need to discuss the Farmer's Market incident,” Coulson said, unruffled.

Tony groaned and dropped into the chair next to Steve. “I promise never to show Thor another Gallager bit, can we go now?”

“I saw to it that everyone received proper recompense for their goods,” Thor said, taking his seat. He looked vaguely embarrassed. “It shall not happen again.”

“Oh, the melons were the least of our problems,” Coulson said. “Let's get started, shall we?”

Tony rolled his head in Steve's direction, a faint groan on his lips. Steve gave him a smile. “Pay attention,” he said, reaching for his tablet. “Or he'll start over.”

“I'm dating you so I don't have to pay attention.”

“Yet, surprisingly, I still expect you to pay attention,” Steve told him, trying and failing not to grin.

“Yeah, that's not going to happen. Wake me up when it's done.”

*

The whole thing went pear shaped so fast that it made Steve dizzy. 

He hadn't been expecting it, none of them had, it was a damn bank robbery. Sure, it was super powered bank robbery, but the Wrecking Crew made a mess and made a grab for money and that was it, that was always how it went.

So it had been him and Clint at first, they were the ones that were at the tower when the call came in, and Coulson had sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose and said, “Fine,” and the three of them had gone, usual SHIELD units in their wake.

And Clint had been cracking jokes the whole time, on his phone with Natasha, rubbing it in that they were going to stop a big, bad bank robbery while she was, what, hunting down HYDRA operatives in New Jersey of all places, what a joke that was. Steve had talked to Coulson, who was wavering about putting in a call to Bruce and Tony, who were just across town at Columbia, or Thor, who was at the UN, talking to various officials about organizational recognition for Asgard.

But the building had been evacuated, the civilians long gone, and only the Wrecking Crew remained inside, a situation that the NYPD wasn't really comfortable handling alone, thus the SHIELD intervention. The bank manager had let the thieves into the vault the held the safe deposit boxes before he was released, and as far as anyone knew, that was still where they were, though there was no intel as to what they were after, or if they'd already managed to get a hold of it.

The consensus between the three of them, including Clint's shouted agreement, was that they could handle this without pulling anyone out of their meetings.

It was a decision that Steve regretted the instant his feet were on the street, because about six seconds after that, the bank blew up in his face. He'd gotten the shield up, and Clint behind it, in time to avoid either of them from taking a fatal blow, but it was close, far too close, and Coulson was gritting his way through a demand for updates in their ears.

Steve stared up as the thing, a cross between a giant lizard, a dragon, a toad and a shrieking alien NIGHTMARE ripped its way out of the building. “I think you'd better call in the rest of the team,” he said, which was much more coherent than Clint's long and obscene break down of the situation. “Clear the street, now!”

“Hit it low and hard,” Clint said, and he was sprinting off, dodging through the debris that already littered the streets, firing arrows so fast his arms were a blur. They hit, but seemed to make little difference in penetrating the scaly skin. The thing turned, blinking one huge eye, the size of a dinner plate, and opened its mouth. The roar exposed rows of ragged, staggered teeth, and Steve was moving.

“Everyone off this street,” he said over the comm to Coulson. “Evacuate the nearby buildings, make sure they take fire exits as far from here as possible, that thing is inside, and it's coming out. It didn't have any problems ripping its way out of that pile of bricks, so I'm not going to think any of the others in range have much of a chance.”

“Clearing them now, we've got calls in to the others, any idea what we're dealing with?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Steve said, as the thing ripped its way out of the front of the bank, tossing its head to clear away the cracked masonry and glass shards that dotted its skin. 

“I'm voting for angry pissed,” Clint said. He was on top of an overturned bus. “Cap, we've got movement on the right hand side, reverse. Maybe one of our missing super villains.”

“Got it.” Steve waited until a group of SHIELD agents in battle gear had drawn the thing's attention before he took off running, cutting through the disaster zone. The familiar green suited man saw him coming and tried to run, but Steve's shield caught him in the back of the knees, sending him sprawling. His crowbar went bouncing across the pavement. “What is that?” he snarled, snagging Wrecker by the front of his suit and dragging him up. “What'd you do?”

“I don't know!” The man seemed terrified. “I don't- I don't know! We took the job, it seemed easy enough, get this rock out of the vault, that's it! That's all we were supposed to do, but when I opened the box, the crowbar hit it, and that thing, just, it just was THERE all of a sudden, and then the whole building was coming down!”

“Magic cross pollination,” Coulson said over the comm, and only Coulson could say that so calmly. Without even flinching. “We've picked up the others, SHIELD's on their way to your location, Cap, hold him for another second.”

He could already see the SHIELD van pulling up, the armed agents piling out, more than happy to take ownership of a man and his mythically powered crowbar if it meant they didn't end up as frog chow. “They're here, what're we doing with this thing?”

“We need to get this thing off the streets,” Clint said, “I need to get up. Who would've thought I'd miss Iron Man's smart mouth?”

“Just for that,” Tony said over the comm, “you can take the stairs.” There was Jarvis in the background, and the rushing of the wind, and it was terrifying to hear from a distance as the warnings blared, making it clear that he was cutting things far too close. “Suitcase suit and I are on the way, keep things together.”

“Thor's on his way, too, but you'll make the scene before him,” Coulson said, and there were SHIELD agents everywhere, laying down fire, trying to keep the monster, because there were no other words, trying to keep it pinned. Nothing they had was making much of a difference, and Steve launched himself forward, drawing it's attention. Running full out, boots chewing up the ground, he dodged his way through the ruined street and felt the breath on his back, even through the protection of his suit. “We need firepower, and we need air support, the sooner the better.”

“I'm en route, ten minutes out,” Tony snapped through the commline, and Steve skidded to a stop, ducking low behind an overturned car as the thing's tail whistled over his head. 

“We don't have ten minutes,” Coulson said, and it was calm, it was precise. “We don't have five.”

“Fuck. I'll be there in four,” Tony said, and despite everything, Steve had to choke back a laugh.

“This isn't name that tune, Iron Man, just get your shiny metal ass in the air,” Clint snarled. “Cap! I need a launch!”

Steve peered around the edge of the car in time to spot Clint flinging himself into what looked like the remains of a window washer's set up. It was on street level, but up above, on the remains of the bank's roof, the tangled wires were strained, singing in the wind. The building was damaged, a huge chunk of the exterior wall stripped away and a dozen floors exposed, but the roof where the pulleys were secured looked stable, at least for now. Steve nodded.

It took him half a second to do the calculations, locating the portion of the pulley system that was holding the basket on the street, and he came to his feet, bringing his shield up.

“Hold on, it's going to be a rough ride,” he snapped, and loosed the shield with a swing of his arm. It flew, straight and true, slicing through the wires held in place by the debris. The rest of the system, relieved of the pressure, shot back towards the roof, and Clint went with it, letting out an entirely too gleeful yell as the setup scraped against the side of the building, sending broken glass and stone clattering to the road below.

He hopped free before the tangle of metal and wire could go crashing back to the pavement, swinging into an exposed floor halfway up. A handful of running steps, and he was skidding down on one knee, his foot braced on the broken edge of the exposed floor. “Hey, ugly!” he yelled, fitting an arrow to the bowstring with a flick of his wrist. “Hey! Your mother dresses you funny!”

The arrow thudded into the back of the thing's neck, going deep, and it howled. Tossing its head, it turned to level a glare in Clint's direction. Clint gave it a grin, and detonated the arrowhead.

“That did it,” he said, as the thing plowed back into the front of the bank building. There was the sound of collapsing walls and shattering glass as it disappeared from sight. “Let's bring the damn building down on it.”

“There's a problem with that, you're on the building,” Steve gritted out.

“Yeah, was hoping you'd missed that.” Clint was moving along the open edge, stories above the ground, his feet moving faster than they had any right to, his boots finding sure spots to stand on crumbling rebar and collapsing floors. Stone crashed down as the building shook, and Steve was on his feet, moving to clear out the last of the civilians. “Coulson, evac?” Clint asked, fitting an arrow to his bowstring.

“Working on it. Stay out of reach.”

“I am doing my best!” Metal and glass and office furniture went raining down to the sidewalk, smashing as it hit, and Steve grabbed an agent and hustled the man out of range, his shield over their heads. “Hey, there, big guy,” he heard Clint say, and he couldn't even look, couldn't do anything but organize the mad rush to clear the streets.

Above him, he heard the thing screaming, and Clint's breathing was harsh and hard in his ear, the singing of the bow audible through the commline, the sheer number of shots not something that seemed possible. “Running out of floor plan here,” Clint said, and Steve looked up in time to see the thing's tail whip around, ripping through half a dozen support columns.

“Iron Man?” Steve said, as sirens screamed around him. “We need air support.”

“I'm just out of range, hold it together,” Tony snarled.

“It's going to get loose,” Clint snapped, and Steve caught a glimpse of him, still moving fast and low, ducking through narrow gaps and taking shots where he could. But the thing was right on top of him, wrenching its body through the remains of the office building.

“Hold it off,” Coulson snapped. “Do not bring that building down.”

“The building is COMING DOWN, sir, it's held together with tissue paper and duct tape right now, it is coming down! I've got the choice of controlling that descent, or not, but any shift of the weight is going to take out the remainder of the foundation!”

“Don't!” Steve told him. “Iron Man and Thor are almost-”

“Sorry, guys, I'm going Mulan on this shit before it ends up back on the streets, and you know, KILLS PEOPLE,” Clint gritted out.

Steve didn't know what that meant, but judging by Coulson's immediate, furious, “NO!” it was not a good thing.

It also didn't so much as slow Clint down. The arrows were loosed, three in a row, perfectly aimed, and Clint was running, still firing, sliding and skidding and he MISSED.

Steve, confused, nearly tripped over his own feet, shocked as the arrows screeched over the thing's head, missing, and missing by a huge margin, and he couldn't figure it out, how could Clint have MISSED, and then the first arrow slammed into the twisted metal frame of the building above them, and the incendiary arrow went off with a burst of fire. The frame twisted with the force, and the weight, and then the other two arrows hit, in rapid succession, precisely right, and the top of the building toppled, crashing into the floor below, and then the whole thing came down.

It was a roar and a rush and Steve yelled something that might've been a swear, he wasn't sure anymore, because the building was coming down, and the monster was going down with it, but Clint was in the way of all that debris, running and jumping and moving faster than Steve had ever thought he could, but not fast enough. The roar of the masonry, of metal and stone and death pushing down on him, and Clint jumped, an impossible height to jump from, but better than the weight of the building behind him.

He was in the air for a second, maybe more, plummeting and still fitting an arrow to his bow when a red and gold streak cut through the air and snagged him, wrenching him away. There was a roar as glass and stone and metal broke like a wave over both of them, and then Iron Man was smashing through, one arm pushing the debris out of the way with a repulsor and the other wrapped firmly around Clint's torso, holding him tight as the archer just kept firing.

Something clipped Tony's leg, a block of stone that would've ripped a limb off any of the rest of them, but it just knocked the two Avengers off course, off-balance, and they were spiraling down, locked together and the building shifted like water as the thing, the goddamn thing just kept coming, it was bleeding and howling but still alive, even as the building wreckage tried to force it down. 

“Thor!” Tony was yelling. “Lateral pass!” And Steve realized one of the repulsors in his legs was dead, and with his arm around Clint, he couldn't pull himself out of the roll.

Thor was swinging in close, and Tony released Clint, who flew through the air, still firing, an arrow imbedding itself in the flesh beneath the damn thing's eye. It howled in pain, and then Thor had caught him, and Clint seemed limp and boneless in his grip, his bow dropping from nerveless fingers to crash to the street below.

Tony slammed into the ground, twisting like a drillbit and throwing up chunks of street and dirt and going still.

It all happened so fast that Steve didn't even have time to do more than move a handful of steps, and the building had settled, and the monster was staggering, dead but not knowing it yet, it's body pinned by the remains of the building. Roaring in pain and rage and dying, it lunged forward, mouth opening wide over Tony's still body.

Steve was screaming, yelling, and Thor was moving, but he was burdened by Clint, still and limp in his arms, Steve was too far away, throwing his shield and knowing it wouldn't make it in time, but throwing it anyway. He heard Coulson yelling in his earpiece, but what firepower that SHIELD had too offer was too little and too late and the thing was snapping down towards Tony, teeth like stone fragments, like shattered metal closing over Tony.

Tony's leg whipped up, and the repulsor flared bright, blasting away at the thing's face. The incendiary arrowhead, caught in the flesh below the thing's eye, took the pulse and blew, hot enough and hard enough to knock Steve off of his feet fifty yards away.

There was a horrible, thick thud as the head came crashing down to the street.

For an instant, there was silence, broken only by the crackle of glass and metal and flames. And then Tony Stark yelled, “Repulsor! Repulsor in your goddamn face, how do you like that? Yeah, that's what I thought, suck it!” over the commline and Steve started laughing, a laugh that was perilously close to a sob.

“Status report!” Coulson was saying, and he was past yelling and back at that 'I hate you all and if you're not alive and healthy I will kill you' tone that they all loved so much. Really, it was terrifying how comforting that tone was.

“Clear,” Steve said, and he was on his feet and running towards Tony.

“Aye, the hawk-eyed one and myself are well,” Thor boomed. “He has regained consciousness.”

“Hawkeye, let me hear your voice,” Coulson snapped.

There was a slight pause, and then Clint's voice, not as steady as usual, but strong enough. “Medical not needed,” he said. “Christ, Iron Man, I requested a pick up, not an E-Ticket ride.”

“Baby, you roll with Iron Man, you better expect a ride and a half,” Tony said, and there was a hysterical note to his voice. 

Steve skidded to a stop next to him, collapsing down to his knees. “Visor up,” he said, leaning over Tony's prone form.

“Uh, no.” Tony put his hands behind him, pushing himself upright with a wobbly sounding groan. “Did anyone check that the killer frog that ate Detroit is actually dead here?”

“Team's confirming that,” Coulson said, running up the street. He didn't sound concerned or winded, but his tie was flapping over his shoulder and his sidearm was in his hand. “However, since its now missing half of its skull, we're assuming it's down for the count.” He stopped next to Steve. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” Tony said, trying to stand and Steve grabbed his shoulder, holding him still.

“Then open your visor.”

“I really don't see how that's necessary, Cap,” Tony snapped out, trying to bat Steve's hand away.

“We need a medical team down here, STAT,” Coulson said into his SHIELD comm unit.

“No, we don't,” Tony said, his voice harsh.

“Then open your visor.” Steve fought against a rising sense of panic.

“Will you all just back the hell off?”

Thor landed next to them, Clint clutched to his side. “What has happened?” he said, stabilizing Clint until the other man stopped swaying on his feet. Coulson took over, freeing Thor to crouch down on Tony's other side. “Are you unwell?” he asked, concerned. “How extensive are your injuries?”

“I'm fine!” Tony tried to get out from under them, but they were ringing him now, and the SHIELD medics were coming at full tilt, and he let out a frustrated sound. “I am tempted to start shooting people here.”

“You know we can rip that visor off of you, Tony,” Steve said, because yelling never worked with Tony, it just didn't, he was immune to yelling. Calm and controlled, that he had no defenses against. “Please. What's wrong?”

Tony threw his hands in the air. “I threw up, okay? Are we all happy now? I threw up inside my own helmet, and was trying to avoid the humiliation of SHARING that, thank you so much for all of you for being a bunch of nosy Noras, and I don't want to talk about this anymore.”

“Oh, fuck, you scared the hell out of me, Stark,” Clint said, slumping against Coulson's shoulder. “Is that all? You prima donna, I puked like, twice. We must've pulled four Gs in that little roll of yours, I'm surprised you maintained consciousness.”

“I should think that would be a greater reason to remove your helmet,” Thor mused. “Does not the smell bother you?”

Steve just buried his face in his hands. “Just open the visor, and we'll hose you down,” he managed. “For heaven's sake, Tony!” He bit his lip hard, fear giving way to humor. 

Tony accepted a bottle of water from one of the medics, before removing his helmet. Leaning forward, he dumped the whole thing over his head as Clint laughed at him. Tony stabbed the empty plastic bottle in Clint's direction. “You. Shut up. Next time, I'll let your idiot face hit the pavement, you watch, next time, you are on your own.”

Clint blew a raspberry at him. “You're a pansy, Stark. I woke up puking and had to deal with a Norse God trying to pat me on the back throughout the process.”

“I was concerned!” Thor said, hurt on his face and in his voice, and Clint grinned at him.

“And I appreciate it,” Clint agreed. “Still. Embarrassing.”

“Much fuss you make, and for nothing,” Thor said, as Clint tried to duck the medics. It wasn't happening; Coulson had him pinned down, and he was not ever in favor of skipping medical checks.

“You showed up for the last damn minutes of the fight, why should I listen to you?” Clint said to Thor, who laughed.

“In time to catch you,” Thor pointed out.

“Bruce is on the main comm. He's been given a status update, but I think he'd prefer to hear it from the rest of the team,” Coulson said, ignoring the two of them. “Cap?”

Steve nodded, even as he snagged another bottle of water and offered it to Tony. “Put him through.” He leaned in, reaching for Tony's damp hair. Tony jerked away from his touch, fending Steve off with one hand, and Steve sighed.

“You picked a good one to miss, Doc,” he said, and as the team promptly started talking over each other, throwing a babble of words and laughter and shouts. Ignoring Tony's look of death, Steve nudged him forward and poured the water over Tony's head, making him sputter.

“I'll get you for that,” he managed, but his smile was warm and amused. “Big guy! Tell me you smacked down those Columbia idiots for me?”

*

“I can't breathe.” 

Steve stared, horrified, at the screen.

“Steve?”

On screen, Tony's HUD kicked back in, and Steve watched the ground rush up to meet him, and wanted to scream. At the last possible second, so close that the camera display nearly scraped the pavement, the system kicked into gear, and Tony howled with laughter as they pulled out of the dive.

“You're going to-” Tony's voice cut off on a cough. “Steve?” he squeaked. “Little- Little less with the hugging, this is getting painful, Steve, I can't feel my ribs.”

Steve jerked, his grip going slack instantly. Against his chest, Tony slumped, gasping for breath. “I'm still alive here,” he managed, head back on Steve's shoulder. “At least until you, you know, KILL ME.”

“Sorry,” Steve said, dropping his hands to his side, which was hard, it was always hard when he had a lap full of Tony, cuddly and a smelling of oil and metal and high end scotch. 

Tony caught his hands and pulled them back. “It's fine, it's fine, just, gentle with the merchandise, here, soldier, I gotta be in working condition next time we get called out and if I'm not, it's sure as hell not going to be because you HUGGED me too hard, I have a reputation,I have standards, if I'm going on the disabled list, it's not going to be because of of a hug, really.” He kissed Steve's palm, and Steve's fingers twitched at the sensation. “It's going to be because of Avengers action, or Cap action.” He grinned against Steve's hand, his lips and breath setting Steve's nerve endings on fire.

Steve shifted under him, trying to concentrate on the screen, because, yes, this felt like a distraction, this felt horribly like Tony was trying to keep him from-

He glanced at the screen in time for the feed to shift to an exterior surveillance shot. The Iron Man armor hovered over the top of the mansion, and then the repulsors flickered out. Steve's whole body spasmed as the armor, with Tony in it, went through the ceiling, the piano, the floor, and landed on the car.

“Well, shit,” Tony said as Steve made an inhuman sound of pain. “Okay, in my defense? I was a little out of it for a bunch of that, so I didn't remember how bad it looked, you know, from the outside, from the inside of the armor, it was just fall, pause, fall pause, fall-”

Steve put a gentle hand over his mouth as on screen, Dummy did his best to make sure nothing caught fire. “Please stop talking,” Steve said, and he felt Tony grin against the flat of his palm. He sucked in an uneven breath, and Tony's hand came up to cover his, squeezing. “I really, REALLY need you to stop talking right now, Tony.”

Tony was laughing as Steve buried his face in Tony's shoulder, burrowing against the warm, healthy skin there, where he could feel the pulse of Tony's heart. He let his lips linger against that steady, healthy throb, and felt it accelerate.

Tony pushed his hand away, reaching over to stroke Steve's hair. “It's okay,” he said, and his voice was unusually gentle. “I'm fine. It was years ago. All of it. It's long over.”

He didn't want to, but Steve raised his head, relinquishing the contact of Tony's skin. It was okay, though, because Tony was still playing with his hair, long, strong fingers carding through the strands, separating them and weaving them back together. “Is it?” he asked, turning to kiss Tony's wrist. “Is it really? Jarvis told you to wait. Why do you have him, if you're going to ignore everything he tells you?”

He kind of expected Tony to blow off the question, to roll his eyes and make a disparaging comment. Instead, Tony glanced at him, his eyes shielded behind his lashes. “I was running out of time.”

Steve shook his head, not understanding. “What do you mean?”

Tony leaned back, letting his head fall on Steve's shoulder. He stared at the ceiling. “It was like... I'd wasted so much time already.” A thread of frustration rolled through the words. “So much time, so much effort, all of it wasted. I just... Felt like time was ticking by, and I couldn't catch up. I kept skipping steps, kept pushing forward, but the days were just...”

His fingers flexed against Steve's head, and Steve covered Tony's hand with his. Tony sucked in a long, careful breath. “I felt like I was failing. I couldn't...”

Steve slid his free arm around Tony's waist. “Looks like it was a success to me.”

“I was just-” Tony shook his head. “I couldn't let them win.” His fingers crept up to cover the arc reactor, his hand spread wide, pressing down, hiding it from view. “This had to mean something. What was done to me, what I did to me, what happened, it had to mean something.”

Steve cuddled him close, his heart beating fast. He was afraid to speak, afraid to move, afraid that Tony would go back to hiding behind his mask, put the visor back down and disappear again. Disappear behind the persona and the attitude and go back to being someone that Steve couldn't understand.

“The whole thing was a mess. Everything I'd done. The things that were-” His voice broke, just a bit, and he cleared his throat. “The things they did to me. There had to be something I could salvage from that. I had to find a way to make everything worth it.

“So I learned to fly.” He sucked in a breath, and his whole body flexed with it, a sigh of pleasure. “That was worth it. All the risk, all the pain, all the stupid stuff I pulled, it was worth it to fly, Steve.”

“It's that good?” Steve asked, and he could hear the note in Tony's voice, a spark of pleasure, hot and real and like sex, buried someplace deep. 

“Want to find out?” Tony pulled out of his arms, scrambling to his feet. He held out a hand, his smile stretching across his face. “C'mon, Cap. Want to find out just why I love to fly?”

Steve blinked at his hand, then back at his face. He must've looked as confused as he felt, because Tony's smile softened, went sweet. “Come fly with me.”

“I've flown with you, Tony.”

Tony waved that away, making a face. It looked so childlike, so disdainful that Steve grinned at him. “No, we've gone to missions, or away from missions, or I've caught you or acted like a damn troop transport. I am none of those things. C'mon, Steve. Come flying. The real thing. Just flying for the sake of flying.”

He shouldn't. It was dangerous, for both of them. He shouldn't, but he wanted to. Right now, he wanted to. Tony wiggled his fingers in a 'come on' gesture, and Steve found himself reaching for Tony's hand. “I've seen you fly.”

“Not the same as flying with me.” Tony reeled him in, pulling on his hand until he found his feet, until they were close enough to touch, close enough for him to lean in the last few inches and kiss Steve's lips. “Trust me, Rogers.”

He started to pull away, and Steve caught him with his free hand, cupping the back of Tony's neck with one broad palm. “I do. You know that.” 

Tony's eyes flickered, tracing Steve's face, looking for something. Whatever it was, he must've found it, because he grinned. “Move your beautiful, beautiful ass, Steve. I'll take you on a ride you'll never forget.” Turning away, he pulled Steve along in his wake. “You like dancing, I will take you DANCING.”

Laughing, Steve followed behind him. “This is the worst idea,” he said, and he didn't care, he really didn't, because his fingers were warm and firm and real. It was an anchor in an uncertain world, the one thing he could count on some days. As strange as things got, as lost and alone and afraid as he got in the middle of the night, he could find Tony's hand, and Tony would hold on. It didn't matter if he was asleep, or busy, or barely paying attention to reality. 

If Steve touched his hand, Tony would hold on. Like he needed the contact as much as Steve did.

“Listen, do not think I've missed your propensity for flinging yourself out of planes, you damn idiot,” Tony said, and he was laughing, high and bright and real. “You have a fetish, and I aim to feed it.”

“You always catch me,” Steve said, and Tony gave him a look over his shoulder.

“Yeah. And I always will.” His fingers squeezing tight, he pulled on Steve's hand. “Let's go. The New York skyline is amazing at night.”

*

“Steve!” 

Steve stood, his back going straight automatically. Pepper came even with him in a handful of long, precise strides, her poise and balance assured despite her towering heels. She smiled up at Steve, holding out a manicured hand. “I'm so sorry to keep you waiting.”

“No, thank you for seeing me,” Steve said, taking her hand. He always felt huge and awkward around her, in particular, he wasn't sure why, but her handshake was firm and strong. There was warmth in her grip, in her eyes, in her smile, and he relaxed, at least a little.

“Of course, you're welcome any time.” She waved her free hand at the door. “Please, come in.”

“Thank you.” Steve trailed behind her, waiting to take a seat in the visitor's chair until after she'd taken her own seat. 

“What can I do for you?” Pepper asked, still smiling, still warm and open. “Have you had lunch yet? I've had a spot on my schedule open up, and I'd love to grab something more substantial than a drinkable yogurt while I've got the chance.”

This wasn't really going the way he'd thought it would. Steve shifted in his chair, leaning forward. “Pepper, I'm sorry, I just-” 

“Oh, please, don't apologize,” she said, grinning. "It's been a hell of a day, so your call couldn't have been a better surprise.” She leaned forward, and the light from the windows played across her strawberry hair and made her skin seem luminous. “I've been so stressed out, it isn't even funny. And that's not good for the digestion. So, back to lunch.” Her head tipped to the side, her smile staying put. “Do you? Have lunch plans?”

“Lunch?” he managed.

“Yes. Do you have plans? It's fine if you do, of course, but I'd love to-” She waved a slim, delicate hand in the air, and her nail polish gleamed, the same color as her suit. “I haven't had a chance to talk with you since you and Tony, well, since the two of you started dating.”

“I don't have plans.” He sounded like an idiot, he knew he did. 

“Wonderful, let me just deal with this, and we can go. I'm feeling like Mexican today, really, enchiladas, I'm so spoiled by California. So incredibly spoiled, but I know a good place. Do you like Mexican?” She glanced up, and seemed to register the confusion on his face. “Steve? Is something wrong?” She bolted out of her chair, coming around the desk in a handful of quick steps. “Is it Tony? Is something wrong with Tony, did he-”

“No, no, Tony's fine,” Steve said. He paused, tried to figure out how to say this without sounding like a clod with no social skills. “I just- I thought you didn't like me.”

Internally, he wondered if he could get one of the office windows open far enough for him to just jump and end his suffering.

Her eyes went wide, just for a second, and she sank down into the other visitor chair, right next to him. There was an odd look on her face. “Steve-”

“Which is fine, I understand that, I make some people nervous, heck, I make me nervous sometimes. But I just wanted to assure you, I never-” He swallowed, feeling his cheeks heat, because he hated even verbalizing this, but he had to, he knew he had to “When you were, uh, with Tony, I never, well, I never did anything to undermine that.”

She stared at him, blinking.

“Not that I-” He could feel the heat in his face. “I don't make plays for people in a relationship, that's a horrible thing to do, I wouldn't, not that I'd make a play, anyway, I really didn't do that, either, even after the two of you broke up, I just didn't know how long to wait, how I should-” He swallowed. “I mean, I didn't want to make things worse for Tony, so I didn't- But I didn't. Not when the two of you were together, and I wouldn't have, I want you to believe that, I just wouldn't have done that, I hope you-”

A choked noise brought his head up, and he stared as Pepper buried her face in her hands.

“Are you crying?” he said, horror creeping over him and coming out in his voice. “Please don't, please-” He reached for her, and then didn't know what to do with his hands, hovering awkwardly in midair, completely lost as to what he should be doing here. “Please don't cry, I really, I can leave, do you want me to leave?” 

She made a choked little noise, holding up one hand, and Steve got up so fast that his chair almost overturned. “I'm leaving, it's okay, I'm so sorry, I'm-”

She reached out and grabbed his hand. “Steve,” she managed, and her eyes were wet, but she was grinning, and her cheeks were pink. She squeezed his fingers. “I'm not, I'm sorry, I'm not crying. Please, please sit down?” she asked, her voice cajoling.

Not really sure what was going on, Steve sank back into his chair, leaving his hand in hers, because that was easier to understand than the look on her face.

She ducked her head. “I'm sorry,” she said, her voice wobbling on the words. “Oh, God, Steve, I'm sorry. I'm not-” She looked up and her eyes were dancing. “I'm not laughing at you, I swear. It was just, I just had the thought that if I had to be dumped, well, at least I could say my boyfriend left me for for Captain America.” She squeezed his hand one more time, and then leaned back in his chair. “I know Tony didn't cheat. He's just lousy at commitment, but if he actually attempts a commitment, he's as stubborn as a starving tick.”

Pepper leaned back in her chair, as far as she could go, without relinquishing her grip on his hands. “I'm sorry, Steve. I am. I didn't realize that I was- That you could-” She sighed. “I like you very much.”

Something tight and unpleasant in his gut loosened. “It's fine, really, you don't have to-”

“I like you.” Her head tipped to the side, her ponytail, a cascade of molten gold and red, sliding over her shoulder. “I like you, Steve, very much. I like the Avengers, I like how you've all influenced Tony. All of you. But you, especially.” Her fingers squeezed his, and she smiled. “I like you, Steven Rogers.”

She sat back, crossing her legs. “I hate Captain America.”

He blinked, not sure what to say to that. 

“Or perhaps it's a little more accurate to say, I'm afraid of Captain America.” Pepper studied him, a faint curve to her lips, an expression he couldn't read in her eyes. She stood, brushing her fingers against her jacket, flicking away non-existent wrinkles. “I wish I could explain, but I think it's just easier to show you. Will you come with me, please?”

He stood with her, the movement instinctive. “Of course. Where?”

“Just downstairs. The hidden secrets that StarkIndustries keeps buried deep,” she said. “You know I was Tony's PA for years before he made me CEO?”

“Yes. He, uh, he talks about you often.”

“Does he?” She gave him a look from beneath her lashes. “I just bet.” She paused at her assistant's desk, giving the stern faced young woman an update to her schedule. The girl gave Pepper a smile and Steve a polite nod, and then they were leaving the executive suite.

“He loves you,” Steve said, after they were in the elevator. 

“Does he say so?” Pepper asked, curiosity on her face. Steve shrugged, just a little, and she gave him a knowing shrug. “That's how he is. He always talks too much, and ever about the things he should be talking about. It's like he's trying to bury the important things under a verbal avalanche. And most of the most important things, he doesn't risk saying at all.” She grinned. "I learned to read between the lines."

The elevator came to a stop, and Pepper glanced up at the number as the doors opened. “Here we are. Archives.” She smiled over her shoulder at Steve, then headed up the hallway. “Dusty boxes of paperwork still. You can imagine what Tony thinks about that, but some things aren't just able to be converted to computer banks.”

Steve nodded, moving along beside her as he considered the identical and precisely labeled rows of doors. Most of them had alarm systems or heavy locks, which made sense, if they really were hiding the company's secrets. A few had windows to reveal dimly lit computer banks.

Pepper paused in front of a door. It was unmarked, other than a simple number over the keypad and card swipe. “This was my project. This is what I did.” Her chin came up, just a bit, as she pulled her keycard through the swiper. “This is perhaps the thing I'm most proud of.” She tapped in a sequence of numbers, and the door unlocked with a faint thunk. She paused, her hand on the door. “Tony doesn't know where I've hidden this,” she said, her gaze clear and steady. “So I'm trusting you here, Rogers. Do not make me regret it.”

He nodded, a brisk little dip of his chin. It wasn't much, but it was enough. She pushed the door open, and lead the way in.

It was a small room, with a single table and chair in the center. Rows of precise metal shelving covered three of the walls, two filled with archive boxes of differing sizes and shapes, and the last packed with what appeared to be wooden blocks. Pepper pushed the door shut. “These are the Tony Stark archives. I'll get you a pass key and a door code, but again. If Tony finds them? He'll do his best to have it all moved to the dumpster. Probably while muttering something obscene about sentimentality.”

Steve was wandering around the room, his feet moving him forward without any real thought. The boxes were all labeled, with the precise, feminine script that he recognized from untold numbers of notes that Pepper had left for Tony around the tower. Dates, and places, and the names of publications and reporting agencies. Boxes marked “School Records” and “Thesis Material,” Tall ones with the names of awards and dates, thin ones that just said, “Family documents” or "Cover articles."

Dozens upon dozens of boxes.

“I saved most of it,” Pepper said. “I was lucky-” She paused, and snorted. “Lucky is perhaps not the word. But I was the one assigned to finish cleaning out the Park Avenue mansion. It's currently the headquarters of the Maria Stark Foundation, but that transition only happened a decade ago, because it was a way to keep the title clear and yet not have Tony pay obscene tax rates on a property he refused to set foot in. But for that, we needed to remove the personal affects.”

“He let you?” Without thinking, Steve reached for a box marked, “Childhood photos,” and jerked his hand back before he could give into the temptation to pull it down.

“He didn't have a choice. Go ahead.” When it was clear that he wasn't going to look, she did it for him, pulling down the slim box and opening it, slipping out a cream colored photo album. She set it down on the table. “Sit, Captain.”

He looked at it, a strange desperation chewing at his gut. Giving in to what he wanted, he reached out, and stroked careful fingers over the crisp cover. It had to be old, but it was as if it had never been opened. He took the seat as Pepper returned to the shelves, long fingers racing over various boxes, reading the spines. She chose two others, returning them to the table. “Early work,” she said, brushing her fingers over the larger of the two boxes, “and some of his MIT material.”

Steve nodded, and glanced at the third set of shelves. Gleaming dark wood, strips of identical size, marched along the metal shelves. “What're those?”

“StarkIndustries issues a plaque to each employee who is listed on a patent application,” Pepper said. “Some are for whole teams, some are individual achievements, but every person who is listed with the patent office gets their own plaque, and a bonus.” She waved at the shelves, her nose wrinkling. “Tony prefers to keep his on site. Or rather, he refuses to take them out of the building.”

Steve's eyes widened. Plaques, turned sideways so only the thinnest strip of wood showed, like the spine of a book. “There must be... Hundreds of them.”

“Yes.” Pepper pulled over a step stool and reached for the first one in the upper left hand corner, pulling it down with a sharp tug. She brought it down and handed it to Steve. “This was the first one.”

She set the handsome plaque down in front of him, and Steve leaned over it. There was a lot of text that he wasn't familiar with, clearly patent numbers and a description of what the patent was for, the team that worked on it, and the StarkIndustries products affected by the patent.

“This is for what, a pistol grip?” he said, frowning.

“Yes. Or rather, the assembly for one. A new way of putting it together that might improve function in the field. Nothing particularly exceptional.” She reached over his shoulder, tapping the plaque. “Except for the date of filing.”

Steve's eyes narrowed. “He was... Twelve.”

“He was twelve when it was filed. I believe that at that point, StarkIndustries was already using the process,” Pepper said. She leaned forward, one hand braced on the table, her fingers in a fist, her knuckles resting on the metal surface. “So likely, it was developed earlier.”

Steve stared down at it. “He developed it, though.”

“I have to assume so. Neither Howard nor Obadiah Stane, his second, seem the sort to humor a child by falsifying a patent application.” Her lips were a thin line. “Which means that Tony was likely working on weapons design long before he went to MIT at age fifteen.”

“Why would Howard do that to him?” Steve asked, and he realized his fingers were locked on the photo album. He forced them to relax. “How could he?”

“I doubt Howard had anything to do with it, except by providing an incentive by way of his inattention.” Pepper looked back at the plaques. “Tony was always driven. And weapons manufacture is the family business. I doubt he saw any other path. Not if he wanted to catch his father's attention. Howard made weapons, Tony wanted to be Howard, what better way to get his father's attention than to contribute to that?”

“He was a kid,” Steve said.

“He was a Stark,” Pepper corrected. “Albeit a young one. If he wanted respect, he had to earn it.” She rubbed away a bit of dust from the top edge of the plaque, the touch careful and delicate. “I don't think he ever managed it, but he didn't stop trying.”

Steve glanced at the shelves, his eyes drawn almost against his will. “I don't think giving up is something he does easily. If at all.” Still clutching the photo album, trying not to think too hard about that, he stood. “And the rest of this?”

“Everything I could beg, borrow, or steal,” Pepper said, grinning at him. “Every magazine article, every tech presentation, his papers from MIT, his report cards from his academy days, his early schematics for Dummy, everything I could find.” Her fingers brushed one of the boxes, the gesture affectionate. "What little I could find. He is remarkable. You know that. I know that. I really wish everyone else did."

She looked at him, pride and stubborn protectiveness on her face. “He deserves someone to remember what he's accomplished. And it was not the legacy his parents left.” She sucked in a breath. “Take these three, all right?” She put the plaque back on the shelf, her heels clicking on the floor as she stepped back down. 

“I shouldn't,” Steve said, but he was still holding onto the photo album. 

“I insist.” She took it from him, and he let her, let her put it back in the box, seal it up, protect it. “He doesn't have any other family members to embarrass him with baby pictures. I think it's my responsibility at this point, and if anyone has a right to it, I'd say it's you.”

“He might say otherwise.”

“He doesn't get to chose his family, or how they humiliate him to his lover. Why should he get benefit the rest of us don't have?” Pepper said, scooping up the boxes. Without thinking, Steve took them out of her hands, and she let him. 

“Come on. We can leave that at the main desk. We've got one more stop, and we can have these picked up by the courier service. I still want lunch.” 

She lead the way back out, and it was all Steve could do to keep up. She seemed driven, almost fixated on a goal, and she wasn't slowing down long enough for him to ask questions. Moving swiftly, they backtracked through the StarkIndustries building, arranging for the boxes to be picked up and delivered to the tower, before she brought Steve back to the main elevators.

Their second stop was on a more public floor, but the doors she lead him to were much larger, and much more ornate. Brass handles gleamed on the dark wood, looking distinctly different from the glass conference rooms and meeting rooms that made up the rest of the floor. Pepper stilled in front of the doors, staring at them for a long moment. “Let's hope you can forgive me for this,” she said at last, “because I doubt he will.”

Before Steve could question that, she unlocked the doors and pushed them open, waving him into the cool, dark interior. She pulled the doors shut behind them, and the room was plunged into darkness for an instant, then lights flickered on, revealing a small entry way.

“This didn't need saving.” She lead the way through the small access way. “Despite what Tony says, he has a sentimental side.” She opened the second set of doors, releasing a rush of cold air, and triggered the lights. “This is what Howard Stark left behind.”

Unlike the first room Pepper had brought him to, this one was expansive, stretching out in front of him. For an instant, Steve just stood there in the shadows by the door, watching as the recessed lighting clicked on along the entire length, lighting beautiful cabinets and cases of dark wood and gleaming glass. Even as the lights came on, Steve stood there, not quite understanding what he was seeing.

It wasn't until the final sets of lights came on, far down the room from him, lighting a replica Captain America shield, that he began to understand what he was looking at.

“It's the largest privately owned collection of Captain America memorabilia in existence,” Pepper was saying, and Steve had to give himself a mental shake, pull himself out of the time morass the room had dumped him into. “It used to be far larger, actually, but when you were-” She paused, her lips pursing. “Recovered? Tony agreed to give the personal affects to Fury.”

Steve's head jerked towards her. “My... Affects?”

Pepper's head tipped to the side. “They couldn't locate a next-of-kin, I'm told. When your plane went down. Howard ended up with the bulk of your affects. He kept them, except what the members of your squad took, to remember you by. As time passed, and as others..." She bit her lip. "Passed on, things were sent to him. Or bought from the estates or heirs. It was the start of his collection. And he collected, well, everything.” 

Steve couldn't stay still anymore, and he couldn't run, so he just started pacing off the distance between the cabinets, seeing the contents almost against his will. “I guess so,” he said, pausing in front of a case that seemed to hold a complete collection of the war era Captain America comics. “Why?”

“I don't know,” Pepper said. “But he never stopped looking for you, and he never stopped collecting. The last item he purchased had a bill of sale for only three days before he died. If he hadn't died in that car accident, he likely would've kept right on with it.”

Steve had the strangest impulse to just start smashing the cases, the precise and ordered detritus of his life lined up in front of neat little numbered cards. The toys and books, the magazine covers and the badges, none of that hurt much. It was just a ploy, a fund raising effort, it was silly and useful and more than a little embarrassing. But he could look at that with a detachment, the same way he had back then, watching his silly film shorts before a movie and signing painted magazine covers that barely looked anything like him.

But the sight of a boot with a broken lace rocked him to his core.

A pencil with a chewed eraser lying on top of a battered tin case of his colored pencils, the lead sharpened unevenly with a knife. One of his sketchbooks, still carefully tied shut, protecting the yellowing pages from the light. His original stage uniform, way back when the stitching wasn't really straight and the design was too simple. A helmet once worn by one of the USO dancers, and he could see her face, round and sweet, with a dimple in her right cheek, so clearly. A pair of uniform socks with a worn through heel, because he couldn't break himself of the habit of darning them.

A case full of photos so painful he could barely look at them.

By the time he retreated back into the center of the room, getting as far away from all of it as he could, his breathing was too hard, too sharp in his chest. The sensation of not getting enough air, not being able to fill his lungs, was a familiar one. His vision swam at the edges, and when Pepper slipped a hand into his, he clung to it with an embarrassing amount of need.

“I don't understand,” he said, and the words were reedy and thin, even to his own ears. Pepper looked at him, her face calm, but her fingers were tight on his. “I don't-” He swallowed. “Why did he keep all of this?”

Her head tipped to the side. “Because he loved you, I assume,” she said. Her lips curled up, but her eyes were sad. “He felt you should be remembered. Honored. He never gave up on finding you. Probably, he never wanted to leave you there, in the ice, cold and alone.” Her lips twitched, her smile real for a second before it disappeared again. “Perhaps, he wanted to bring you home. If he couldn't, the least he could do was rescue this, rescue your memory.”

It was agonizing, the pain was so intense for a moment that he wanted to just walk out, to just pretend he'd never seen any of it, never seen his things, so familiar and real and necessary, rotting away behind glass. Like being entombed himself.

“I really am just a ghost.”

The words echoed in the silence, refusing to fade, ringing in his ears with the clarity of a bell. He closed his eyes, and it didn't do anything to block out the memories, the vision, the emotions that roiled in his belly, hot and hard and empty.

“You're the ghost Tony has lived with his entire life,” Pepper said, and his head snapped up. “You have always been a step behind him, beside him. You were at his dinner table and in his house and in between him and his father.”

Horrified, he jerked back, trying to pull his hand from her grip, and she didn't let him go, she didn't let him run, both of her hands closing around his, squeezing hard on his palm. “Don't,” she said, and there was desperation there in her voice, in her face. “I know, I know, I'm horrible, I'm a horrible person, but you have to acknowledge that, Steve. You have to understand.”

“I don't understand any of this,” he said. The words tasted like dust in his throat, on his tongue. He sucked in a breath, and it stuttered in his chest. “I don't even know what that means.”

Pepper studied him, her grip too tight and her nails digging into his skin. “Howard loved you,” she said, and her voice ached with exhaustion. “This was Tony's life. When he was small, when he wanted, when he needed a hero, you were it. You were perfect. People forget the bad, Steve. People remember, people talk about, the good. In their fallen heroes, any failings are swept away. 

“This is what Tony grew up surrounded by. When Howard talked about Captain America, when he talked so much about you, it wasn't just the hero, it wasn't the shield, it wasn't the persona. It was you. It was Steve Rogers, the remarkable, brave, intelligent, kind man who'd been his friend. The man who saved lives and won battles and defeated the bad guys. You were perfect, in a way that Tony never could be.

“He spent his childhood desperate for some acknowledgment, some fragment of praise from his father, and you were like the perfect older brother, the one he could never measure up to. You were his father's friend, perfect and unchanging, you were his hero, you were who he wanted to be, because...” She bit her lip, hard enough to slice through the lipstick. “Because I'm sure Howard made it clear that he couldn't measure up.”

The words were a body blow, and he wasn't sure how he was still on his feet. “He wouldn't compare a child to a full grown man,” he objected, but the words tasted like a lie on his tongue. He scrubbed at his face with one hand. “He wouldn't.”

“He was human, too,” she said, blinking hard and fast, because Pepper Potts hated to cry in public, hated to expose that weakness. But one tear slid down her cheek. “He was human, and he had a drinking problem, and you represented everything he'd lost through the years. And Tony was loud and made mistakes and made messes and...” She closed her eyes, her shoulders rising and falling with a sigh. “Tony was real, and he needed things, things that I don't think Howard could give him. And if Howard was anything like Tony, he hated being reminded of his failings. And every time Tony wanted something he couldn't give...”

Pepper turned her head away. “This is what he left. This is what Tony inherited from him. He could've burned the lot of it. Could've donated it to the Smithsonian. Could've sold it. But he didn't. Because as hard as the memory of you might've made his relationship with his father?” She blinked at Steve, eyes huge and liquid soft. “He believed in you, too. He believed what his father told him. About just how special you were, and how amazing.”

Steve stared at the first costume, and he could see, even from this distance, the battered edges to the sleeves, the crooked stitching from a repair, the worn spots on the elbows and shoulders. He could see every imperfection, and he wasn't sure how any one else could overlook them, how they could find this as anything other than a joke, a pathetic lie.

“And when we met-” He couldn't even get the words out. They stuck in his throat, choking him. Leaving him gasping for breath. He wrenched his hand free from hers, pressing shaking fingers against his face. 

“You didn't say anything to him that he hadn't already said about himself,” Pepper said.

“You did not hear what I-” He stopped, so full of self-loathing that he hated the sound of his own voice.

“No,” she agreed. “But I've heard what you've said since. I've heard it, and I've heard about it. Steve? You're not a paragon, and you're not a cardboard hero, and you're not a plastic toy. You're human, too.” She reached up, her fingers gentle against the curve of his jaw. “If you weren't, if you were as perfect as Howard made you out to be? This thing, this relationship between you and Tony, it would never work.” 

She cradled his face in her palms. “He doesn't need a hero, Steve. He is a hero. He may not want to acknowledge that, but he is. He's a hero, he doesn't need-” She pushed his head up when he tried to glance away. “He needs you. Just as flawed, and imperfect, and wonderful, and heroic, and fallible as he is.” She leaned in. “Okay?” Steve shook his head, or tried to, but she wouldn't let him go. “Okay?”

His lips kicked up, against his will. “What if I say no?”

“Can you say no at this point?” She grinned at him, and a tear escaped from her eye. She ignored it, and so did he. “Tony's got a way of getting under your skin. I, of all people, know that. I don't think you could give him up. Can you.”

It wasn't a question, but he answered it anyway. “If I'm hurting him, I will.”

“He wouldn't want you to hurt yourself in his stead,” Pepper pointed out. She let her hands fall from his jaw, and he missed the warmth of that, the comfort. “You're what he needs. More than that, you're what he wants.”

Releasing him, she turned, pacing off the space between the cases, her fingers trailing over the perfect glass. “He had this professionally curated and preserved,” she explained, and her finger tips left streaks on the cases. Steve was glad about that, about the break in the perfection. “He did it not for his father, not for you, he did it for himself. Because he believes in heroes, he believes in the best of humanity, even if he has trouble achieving that.”

Pepper paused, staring at one of the rejected shield prototypes that Howard had created. “It shouldn't have worked. You can't love someone like that. Someone that's been your hero. There's too much baggage, too many false expectations, and I was terrified. I was so scared of you.” Her back was to him, but her shoulders were a sharp line, her voice hitching in the words. “I could see what was coming, and I was so scared. You could destroy him so easily.”

One nail traced a circle on the glass. “Or at least, that's what I thought. But Tony never was one for confusing reality and fantasy. And you-” There was a faint chuckle. “You are so much more than I expected you to be. And less. I'm not going to pretend you're perfect, but that's, well, that's what makes you perfect.” Her hand came up, hidden from him, and her shoulders flexed beneath her precisely tailored suit jacket as she brushed at her eyes. When she turned back to Steve, her eyes were clear. “If you were just Captain America, I would do everything possible to keep him away from you. For his own safety. But you're not. You're just...” She grinned, and her eyes glistened, just for a second. “Steve.”

He sucked in a breath. “Is that better?” he asked, not even sure any more.

“It is, as long as Steve's the man who loves him.” Pepper's head tipped to the side. “I'm not going to tell you not to hurt him,” she said, at last. “Because loving someone, being loved, that entails hurt. It's impossible not to hurt someone, not when you love them.

“What I am going to tell you is that you got into this, and you need to understand the enormity of what you've done. If you didn't before, I hope you do now.” She waved a hand at the room, at the shadowy display cases, at the professionally organized and curated artifacts. “You have a legacy that isn't of your choosing, but then again, Steve? How many of us get to choose our legacies? Most of us are just trapped by what others think about us, for good or ill.

“And I can say this. Tony Stark adores you. Not because you're Captain America, and not because you're Steven Rogers, his father's hero,” she said when he flinched. “But because you're Steve. Because you're the guy who sits in his workshop and yells at him when he doesn't eat and plays with his bots and listens to him when he babbles and smiles at him when he's in a lousy mood and wants a drink. You're, well, you, that's all you need to be. For any of us.”

She took another step forward, facing him head on, chin up, shoulders back, and for an instant, as she passed through the dark place between the recessed lighting, surrounded by the detritus of his life, it was like facing down Peggy's ghost. She emerged into the light, and she was Pepper, just Pepper, and that was enough, but his heart ached. For an instant, the pain in his chest was a physical thing. 

“So I am saying this. If you ever, and I mean ever,” she said, her voice hard and sharp as flint, her eyes filled with heat, “forget the responsibility you've undertaken with this relationship, if you ever treat him with less than full consideration for just how delicate this situation is, I will hurt you.”

She was still stalking forward, and Steve found himself backing up, his steps stumbling and uneven, until his spine bounced off the wall, and she was still coming forward. “You may be Captain America,” she said, “but that is nothing I give a damn about. I have dealt with much, much worse than you, Rogers, and I'm telling you, right now? I will find a way to hurt you. It will be creative, and it will be painful and you are better off not knowing just what it will be.

“And if you screw him over, Steve? If you deliberately, and with malice aforethought, fuck him over? I will cut a bitch, and the bitch is you. I will make you bleed. I will castrate you with your own shield. I will do this thing, because I can, and because it needs doing.” She leaned in, her chin leading the way, her eyes throwing off sparks in the light of the nearby cabinets. “Do we understand one another, Captain?”

Steve's shoulders were pressed against the wall, his feet pushing back ineffectually, because there was nowhere for him to go. He swallowed, hard. “Yes, ma'am,” he managed, and his voice cracked a bit between the words, and he did not care, not at all.

Pepper studied him for a moment, her eyes weighing something he didn't understand. Whatever it was, whatever test she was presenting him, it would seem he passed it, because she took a deep breath and nodded. And just like that, she smiled, sweet and warm. “Good. Now that that's settled, shall we get lunch?”

Steve glanced to the side, eying the doorway and wondering if he could make it out of here with with his head intact. “Uh, yes?” he said, at last, because running had never been in his nature, not ever, and he was amazingly stupid sometimes.

“Great!” Pepper took his arm, pried it away from his side, really, and slipped hers through the crook of his elbow. “Do you like Mexican?”

“Yes?” He gave her a hopeful smile, because she seemed okay now. Less likely to pull a weapon out of her perfect little color coordinated purse. He healed fast, in any case.

“Wonderful. I know a good place.” She flicked a glance at him, then went up on her tiptoes, adding an inch or two to her height over what the heels have already given her. Her lips brushed against his cheek, delicate and soft, and he blinked down at her. “I really like you,” she said, and her voice was gentle. “I like you, very much. And as afraid as I am of this, of what the two of you are doing? If anyone can pull it off? It's you.” She patted his bicep, her eyes crinkling as she smiled, a real smile, warm and comfortable and like the two of them were sharing a joke. “I'm rooting for the two of you. I'm rooting for you, Steve.”

“But you're on Tony's side,” he said, because he could understand that. He could appreciate that, and she smiled at him.

“Someone has to be,” she said. “Let's go, I don't know about you, but I'm starving.”

“Yeah.” He glanced around as they made their way to the door, at the shadowy display cases, at the detritus of his former life, at the caskets of glass and metal that canonized him. “Pepper?”

“Yes?”

“I really hate this,” he said, and she leaned against his side, just a bit.

“So do I,” she said. “You're better than this. Let's go. Tacos make everything better.”

“Yes, ma'am.” Without a backward glance, he left the room.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those questioning about how long it took me to start posting the fourth part of the "Toasterverse," it's because I was writing the fifth part! Yeah, don't think too hard about that. Shut up. It's fine. I know what I'm doing. Okay, not really.
> 
> This piece was written for the Cap/IM Big Bang! I was lucky enough to be matched with two talented artists to help illustrate this madness, and I could not have been more pleased with the passages they chose to draw! The art can be found here:
> 
> http://i3.photobucket.com/albums/y60/h1545h1/movies003.jpg
> 
> And here:
> 
> http://sam-paranoid.tumblr.com/post/33494944719/big-bang-art
> 
> NOTE: This piece does follow "Dating the Long Way Around." It contains no spoilers for that story. It can be read before that one, because I haven't finished WRITING that one. Sorry, I am tired and cranky. 8)

"You know what's not comforting? At all?" Tony was loosening his tie as he strode down the landing platform. His jacket was already off, tossed without much concern over the crook of his elbow, despite the cool night air. It was always cold and breezy, this far up, but Steve never really noticed; he knew what it was like to be cold, to be frozen down to the bone, and this wasn't it. This was a mild breeze, compared to the North Atlantic, and he liked the view. He liked sitting up here, waiting for Tony sometimes, and sometimes just sitting, letting his legs dangle down over the edge of the platform and watching the city move below him.

Mostly waiting for Tony.

"What isn't comforting?" he asked, looking back over his shoulder with a smile.

"Trying to get in touch with my CEO during a rather delicate tech negotiations because the urge to bludgeon an engineer fresh out of, I don't know, grade school, I think, I think he was twelve, no joke, he should've been down with my Lego group, Steve, this kid hadn't gone through PUBERTY and he's trying to lecture me about the capability of my circuitry. MY circuitry, as in, the ones I designed, personally, he thinks he knows better than me-"

"Focus, Tony," Steve said, giving him a look out of the corner of his eye. He was trying not to smile, but it was a losing battle. Tony in a snit was always amusing.

"So finding out that my CEO and, might I add, my ex-girlfriend, was out with my boyfriend, that? Not awesome. Panic inducing, actually, but really not awesome. Not comforting, not good for my stress levels or my blood pressure, and very much not appreciated." Tony stopped next to Steve, his hands on his hips, eyes narrowed, hair tousled by the wind. "I hate to be this kind of a paranoid lover, it's just undignified, but I have suspicions now. Are you stealing my CEO, Rogers?"

"What?" Almost against his will, Steve grinned. "What are you talking about, Tony?"

"It's a reasonable conclusion," Tony said, his tone arch. "When I find out that my beautiful ex-lover is in a secret tete-a-tete with my equally gorgeous current lover, it's clear that they're forming a new company to destroy me financially." He took a seat next to Steve, letting his legs dangle over the edge into thin air, and tossing his jacket down next to him. "It's a rational fear. Financial footsie. It's destroyed so many tycoons of business."

"I swear there are days when I only understand every third word out of your mouth," Steve said, trying not to laugh. It didn't help when Tony grinned at him, dark eyes dancing, his face relaxed. "Financial footsie, Tony, really?"

"You seduced my CEO with your wiles," Tony explained, with a straight face. "Talking to her about how beautiful her five year plan is. Whispering sweet spreadsheets in her ear. Waxing poetic over her powerpoint presentations."

"We had all-you-can-eat tacos and talked about you," Steve said, eyebrows arched.

"Well, that's worse." The wind whipped up, stealing the breath from them for a second, and Tony leaned into the shelter of Steve's side. Steve wrapped an arm around his shoulders, brushing a kiss against Tony's smiling mouth. Tony leaned into the contact, not objecting as Steve let his lips trail over Tony's windswept hair. "Everything Pepper told you is a lie, just so you're aware."

"I figured." Steve shifted, just a bit, using the breadth of his shoulders to block the wind. "She spent the whole meal telling me what a great guy you were. It was almost like she was trying to fix us up."

"That-" Tony's eyes narrowed in mock outrage. "I am calling her. Right now. How dare she try to fix my boyfriend up with me? That's just out of bounds, that is just-" He pulled his phone out and had to dodge as Steve made a grab for it, and they both tumbled back onto the cold stone. "No! No, you get back, don't you even, Steven, this is unacceptable behavior for an American Icon."

Steve froze, already half over him, reaching past Tony's attempts to fend him off and keep the phone out of reach. Underneath him, Tony went still, his laughter dying a swift death. "Steve?" Flat on his back, he reached up, stroking a thumb against the flat plane of Steve's cheek. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"Nothing." Steve managed a smile as he pulled away. "Are you hungry?"

"Yes, I did not have all-you-can-eat tacos with my ex. Therefore, I am hungry. And you are always hungry, I've noticed this." Tony propped himself up on his elbows, not making any effort to get to his feet. "However, I'm not nearly hungry enough to be distracted by your rather obvious ploy here, Rogers, so let's figure this out first, shall we?"

Steve stood up, trying not to be awkward about it, but Tony's eyes were on him, narrow and sharp, and he always felt clumsy around Tony, lacking in grace and polish. "It's cold out here," he said, managing to find his feet without completely humiliating himself. "Let's go in, and get something to eat, okay?"

"Wow, you are ignoring me, which is so unlike you that I can't even begin to tell you how much this is freaking me out." Tony didn't move, his face set in pleasant lines, a faint smile around his mouth that didn't reach his eyes. "Steve. What's wrong?"

Steve held out a hand. "Please get up?"

Tony studied his outstretched hand, his face unreadable. "Why do I feel like I'm being politely invited to my execution?" he muttered under his breath, one finger tapping a rapid flicker against the stone. Still, with a faint sigh, he reached up, clasping Steve's hand and letting himself be pulled up. "Only because my ass was getting cold." He didn't let Steve let go, lacing their fingers together. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong, precisely, it's not-" Steve broke off, sighed. He risked a glance at Tony, who did not look convinced. He sucked in a long and careful breath, ignoring the feeling of impending panic, trying to focus on the warmth of Tony's hand in his. "Pepper, uh, Pepper showed me Howard's collection. The, well, the Captain America stuff." He felt his heartbeat accelerate, and he had to make a conscious effort to control his breathing, to keep it level and calm. "My things."

There was a moment where there was only the sound of the wind, the sound like breaking ice as it cracked between the buildings, chilling the skin, making the eyes water. For a moment, there was just cold air in his lungs, sharp and hard as a blow.

Then Tony pulled his hand free of Steve's.

Steve's fingers stayed in midair, hovering, reaching, until the enormity of the rejection sank in. His hand folded into a fist, trying to hold the residual warmth of Tony's touch, even as the man himself stepped back. He had a mocking little smile on his face as he tucked his hands into his pockets. "She did, did she?" His shoulders hunched forwards, his arms pressed in tight against his body. "Remind me to thank her for that."

Steve glanced at him, his heart sinking. "I'm sorry," he said, because what else could he say? "Tony, I'm-" His voice broke, and he stopped, swallowing the rest of it, because he knew he was going to screw this up; he always did, he could never quite manage to hold it together around Tony.

"Yeah, I know." Tony rubbed a hand over his face, and for an instant, his expression twisted into something pained and painful. It was gone almost before Steve registered it was there, swept clean with the flicker of an eye. "So, that's it?"

"I can't change any of it," Steve said, and Tony turned and stalked away. Without thinking, the action instinctive and as unconscious as a drowning man reaching for a rope, Steve's hand snapped out, snagging Tony's wrist. "Don't. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have snooped, I just..." He paused, and Tony paused, and they stood there, silent. "I'm sorry."

Tony didn't turn back, didn't even glance in Steve's direction. "It's been a long day, and I'm tired," he said, his voice subdued. "Can we just- Let's do this tomorrow. Can we just do that?"

It took effort, it took control, it took willpower beyond what Steve knew he possessed not to cling or let his fingers tighten on Tony's arm. Not to say the words that were clawing at his throat, because he was certain of two things: that he was in love with Tony Stark, and that Tony didn't want to hear that.

"I'm sorry," he said instead. "I'm sorry Howard, that your father, spent so much time and money canonizing a dead man." A raw, ugly laugh slipped out, surprising them both. Tony met his eyes, his face a mask that Steve couldn't quite see past. "Canonizing a damn SUIT." He dropped his hands to his sides, and his fingers formed fists, impotent in his frustration. "I wish he'd just left me where I-"

"Don't," Tony snapped, his voice cutting like a knife. "Don't you dare, don't you ever say that." He stabbed a finger at Steve's chest. "I would rather he bankrupted the family rather than leave you down there." He made a gesture, hard and sharp, slicing into the air, but at the last moment, he flattened his palm over Steve's chest. "You are worth every penny, and every second he spent on you. That is not in question. Don't you-" Tony's mouth worked, and flattened out, his eyes fierce beneath lowered brows. "Don't. Don't you ever say that to me. Don't you ever say that, just at all, don't you dare." He sucked in a long breath. "No matter what else, I'm glad-" He stopped, shook his head. "Look, it's fine. It's.." His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, his eyes closing. "It is what it is."

Steve covered Tony's hand with his, pinning it against his chest, over his heart, and Tony's fingers were cold beneath his. "I'm sorry."

Tony shrugged. "Yeah, well, me, too." His lips quirked up on one side, and he moved, his weight shifting back, stepping away. Steve matched the movement, leaning forward and closing the distance between them, risking everything on a kiss as light as he could make it. The world stilled, just for a second, his mind going blank, and all he was aware of was the soft, stuttering weight of Tony's breath against his lips. 

Tony met him halfway for the second kiss, not so gentle, not so kind, but with enough heat to banish the cold. His body shifted, pressing against Steve's, and Steve pulled him close, trying to make his brain focus on something other than how good that kiss felt, Tony's lips parting under his, the scrape of teeth and the pressure of tongues. When they finally broke apart, he was gratified to find that Tony was breathing just as hard as he was, maybe harder.

Tony shook his head, his eyes dark and pupils blown wide, his cheeks flushed and his mouth almost the same pink. One of his hands was fisted in Steve's shirt, crushing the fabric in fingers that shook. "Okay," he said, and his voice sounded wrecked, raw. "Oooooookay. I don't know what's going on here, I really don't, I'm used to that, but right now? I need you to explain this, and I need you to use small, modern words to do it."

"What?" Steve cradled his jaw in one hand, his fingers cupping the cool skin, rubbing over his cheek with his thumb. "Tony, what're you-" He couldn't hold back a grin. "I never understand you, Tony. I'm trying, but I don't-"

"Are you breaking up with me?" Tony asked, and Steve's heart stopped beating.

"No. What? Wait, what? No!" Panic rushed in to fill the empty space where his heart used to be, and he stared at Tony, stricken. "Are you- I mean, do you not want-" He swallowed, trying to get himself back under control. It was an impossible task. "No. I'm not breaking things off, I don't want to break things off, and if you do, I really want to discuss this, because I thought-" His voice broke, just a faint crack between the words. "How could you even think that?"

Tony's eyes were tracing his face, narrow and sharp. After a tense second or two, he took a deep breath and released it. "Oh, well, that's- That's a relief," he said, his voice faint, before he leaned into Steve's body, burying his face in Steve's neck. Steve wrapped his arms around Tony, pulling him close.

"How could you even think that?" Steve whispered against his hair. He rubbed a hand down the length of Tony's spine, and felt him shiver. "Tony, why do you think I'd want to-" He nuzzled at Tony's dark hair, breathing in for the scent of shampoo and gel, cologne and crisp linen, and beneath it all, the smell of metal and oil, that smell that was uniquely Tony.

"I don't know," Tony said against his skin, a huff of breath like a broken chuckle following the words. Steve felt it against his skin, a sharp burst of warmth through his shirt, and he held on tight. "Maybe because you found my secret collection of your things and that is almost insanely creepy? Hell, I'm a little weirded out about that, and I try not to think about just how weird that is, to be honest, because if I did, I'd just be backing away from you right now-"

"Tony!" Laughing, Steve nudged his chin up. "I'm not- First of all, it was your father's collection, wasn't it? Not yours. Secondly, I'm not weirded out, what does that even mean?" He leaned his forehead against Tony's. "I-" He gritted his teeth against the words, against the truth, and found a substitute that Tony wouldn't recoil from. "I need you."

Tony laughed, a huff of sound. "Not even close, Cap." He pulled back, just far enough to meet Steve's eyes. Whatever he saw there was enough to make him relax, at least a bit, his the tension going out of his body. Steve felt it, and pulled him closer, trying to shield him from the wind. "You can take it all. Or I can give the whole thing to the Smithsonian," he added. "They pretty much ask me about it once a month, it's a standing thing, they want it all."

"No," Steve said, a little too sharp, a little too loud. He shook his head and repeated, quieter now, "No. If you're asking my opinion, that is not what-" He shook his head. "No, please."

Tony arched an eyebrow. "It's yours, Steve. You can do whatever you want with it. If there was a non-awkward way to say, 'Hey, by the way, I've got a shit-ton of your stuff, what do you want me to do with it?' I would've already given it all back to you."

"It's fine. It's more depressing than anything else." Without really thinking about it, he tucked his cheek against Tony's hair, eyes closing against the weight of his memories. "Feels like I should be rotting away with the rest of it. Behind glass, like a sideshow attraction." The light pressure of Tony's fingers in his hair made him jolt, then relax. "Just... I prefer it to stay where it is, if that's okay. Most of it, the stuff about the commandos, and Peggy and Col. Phillips, and-" His voice broke. He cleared his throat, trying to concentrate on the sensation of Tony's fingers, sliding through his hair. Tony's hand, as steady as ever, capable of such amazing things. "And Bucky," he finished, because he could, he could face that ghost if he had to, because he wasn't alone. "They deserve to be remembered. To be honored. The things they did, what they risked, what they accomplished, it was important. They deserve to be in the Smithsonian, but I can't, not now, not just yet."

"Everyone but you, huh?" Tony asked, and there was a pained note to his words. But his fingers were still stroking, firm and gentle, all at once, a lifeline that Steve couldn't give up, not yet.

"I spent most of the war as a dancing monkey in a spangly suit," Steve mumbled, and Tony's fingers went still.

"You saved the world," he whispered against Steve's neck, the words pressed against his skin.

"So've you."

"Yeah, well, let's ignore that, we are in a small minority here, Steve, and I don't like most of the other members of our little club." He pulled back, his eyes meeting Steve's. "The superhero community, as a whole, is made up of a bunch of assholes, we've discussed this." Steve's lips quirked, and Tony smiled back. "Saving the world isn't enough for you, you egomaniac?"

"Tony..." Steve rolled his eyes. Tony just stared at him, his eyebrows arched, his expression one of amused disbelief. Steve sighed. "Most of that stuff, it's about a guy that never existed. It's a publicity ploy. They could've stuffed anyone into the costume. I'm kinda surprised they didn't, when I went down."

"There's no one who could've taken your place," Tony pointed out. "And even the U.S. government wasn't stupid enough to try. But they could keep the memory of you around. People need heroes. They've always needed heroes." Tony paused, let his head tip forward to rest on Steve's shoulder with a faint grown. "I can't believe I'm even considering this," he mumbled against Steve's shirt. "I just barely dodged one bullet and here I am, flinging myself into the path of another one." He pushed away before Steve could react to that. “Goddamn, I am inordinately stupid.”

“Tony?” 

"Okay, I would like to remind you that you picked our last fight, Rogers, so the least you can do is give me a freebie here," he said, giving Steve a look. Not sure what was going on, Steve nodded. That seemed to work; Tony took a deep breath and gave him a sharp nod. "Okay. Inside, workshop." He stepped back, out of reach, and gave a brisk little clap of his hands. "Let's go, march, soldier."

"Is this a new kink for you?" Steve asked, not quite able to hold back a smile. But he headed for the door, Tony falling into step beside him.

"Nothing new about it, darling," Still, Tony slipped his hand into Steve's, and gave it a squeeze. He would've pulled away, but Steve laced their fingers together. He didn't hold on tight, prepared if Tony decided to take his hand back.

Tony's fingers tightened on his. "Most of what's at StarkIndustries was Dad's," he said as they crossed to the elevator. "Some of the Commandos bequeathed things to him, and to me, after he died. But he collected it all. Even the toys. Most of them were collector's items by the time I was old enough to play with them, so, well, I didn't get to play with them." His lips quirked up in a lopsided smile. "I tried, a couple of times, but getting caught wasn't worth it."

"I'm sorry-" Steve began, and Tony waved him off.

“You were important to him. Didn't understand why, until I met you.”

Steve felt his cheeks heat. Tony gave him a sideways glance out of the corner of his eyes. “You are entirely to-” He paused, grinned. “Know what? No. Fuck it. I like you just as you are.” He kissed Steve on the lips, pulling away as the elevator came to a stop. “Come on.”

Ambling into the workshop, he headed for the charging stations. “Hey, guys, Daddy's home.” He paused to touch each of the bots as they angled their heads towards him. “Dummy, c'mere for a second.”

Leading the bot back to the main workbench, he grabbed a tool, flipping it in the air and catching it as it fell. “I need to poke around in your base, buddy, but I'm not going to mess with your parts tonight.” He pointed the spanner at Dummy's camera. “I swear if you wig out on me, I'll magnetize your wheels and let the Roombas have their way with you.” Dummy let out a whine and Tony tapped him lightly on the support strut. “You can do it. Good boy, right?” Dummy lowered his head, rocking back and forth on his wheels. “That's my guy.”

Cautious, not wanting to intrude, Steve lowered himself down next to Tony. He rubbed Dummy's hand with gentle fingers, and Dummy leaned into the touch.

“So, when I was building Dummy, back in the dark ages,” Tony said, going to work while the bot was distracted, “I used what I had on hand For the mechanical parts, he was a little bit jury rigged, a bit of a patchwork puzzle. I had no patience, I had no time. I couldn't wait for things to be ordered, I needed to have things done, right then, and that meant, I made do.” He snagged a screwdriver and pointed it at Steve. “A lot of things didn't fit, a lot of things just barely fit.” Tony set the panel aside and peered inside. “I had to kind of duct tape stuff into place. And brace a couple of delicate parts with whatever I had on hand.”

“I fixed most of it later, but for some reason...” He reached in, angling his body low to the ground. A moment later, he pulled out a small, silvery packet, a little pillow of metallic material. “This just stayed. Even though I didn't need it once the rest of him was fixed. It was just as jury-rigged as anything else.” He leaned back, studying it as if held some secret. Finally, he handed it over to Steve and turned his attention to putting the panel back. “I should've taken it out. But I didn't.”

Steve considered it, about eight inches long and rectangular, puffed tight with air, but there was something inside, something with mass that shifted ever time he turned the pillow over in his hands. “What is it?” he asked, curious.

Tony finished securing the panel. “I was drunk when I made Dummy,” he said, ignoring the question. He rolled to his feet. I just want to preface this with that little tidbit. I was drunk, and about five weeks out from my parents ' funeral, so that was not a good time.”

Tony didn't look in Steve's direction, his head down, staring at Dummy's upturned camera. The bot tipped his head up, his arm angled low and his servos humming as he turned one way, then the other. He nudged Tony with a whine. “I threw away, well, everything. Books, tools, pictures, clothes. I shoved it all in the trash. Hell, I pitched a lot of it out the window, that nearly got me arrested. Drunk seventeen year old throwing computer equipment out a sixth floor window. I think the beat cops just didn't want to deal with me.”

He grinned, but it didn't reach his eyes. “I threw everything away. If I could've burned it, I would've. Except for that.” He stared at it, his face caught in the grin, softening at the edges. “I'd carried it for so many years, there was this perverse, well, determination that I hold onto it. Dad tried to take it away often enough, it was worthless and embarrassing, but I dragged it along in my wake, I held onto it. When I got to MIT, I still had it. I told myself this was an experiment.” 

Tony took the pillow back, cradling it in his hand. “Inert gas and a new polymer. See if I could suspend time. Told myself it was... An experiment. That I had to hold onto it, to see if my work held up. I couldn't discard it, not until the experiment was over.

“It was never going to be over.” He shook his head. “My ability to self-delude is my second greatest trait, you know.” He reached for a blade from the workbench, and set the pillow down in front of him. “This, I kept. Of all the things I've owned, this I kept, this I sealed into Dummy's base, bracing a set of circuits from brushing against one another and creating a short. I kept this because it was the right size and shape. Because it was already insulated and protected and balanced. Because it was of use.” He put a careful slit in the material and it deflated with a hiss. “Because I was going to make Dummy work. Because I couldn't- I was too messed up to protect my bot, but maybe-” 

With a faint smile, he worked a blue object free from the pillow and tossed it to Steve, who caught it automatically. “Maybe I could give him a measure of protection, anyway. Some talisman, some artifact, some bit of magic, from when I still believed in magic.”

Steve turned the object over in his hands, blinking. The small toy was battered and faded, the fabric rough in places, with obvious stitches marking a repair down one side, where a seam had split. It was a child's plaything, it was well-used, and well-loved, it was a toy, unlike the ones he'd seen behind glass in StarkIndustries.

He smiled, and the little Captain America plushie, complete with shield and cowl, smiled back up at him.

“This was yours?” He blinked hard, his eyes burning. He cupped his palms around the slight weight, using more care than was necessary.

“Yeah.” Tony leaned back against the bench, his arms folded over his chest. When Steve glanced at him, he gave a faint shrug. “Not as fancy as Dad's, but he was all mine.”

Steve felt a nudge at his side, and Dummy sidled up close. “No,” Tony said, his voice stern. “No, don't you dare. That is not yours.” Dummy clicked his claw at Tony and went back to watching Steve's hands, a faint whine in the movements of his servos. “Yes, I'm well aware that it came out of you, I put it in you, you needy little brat, but that is clearly not a mechanical part, look at it, you don't need it!”

“Did you?” Steve heard himself ask. When Tony looked at him, he swallowed, and repeated, “Did you need it?”

Tony rubbed a hand on the back of his neck, his head dropping down. His shoulders jerked in a shrug. “If saving the world isn't enough for you, why would saving one kid make a difference, Steve?”

Steve looked down at the toy. “I don't know,” he admitted. “I don't know why it matters, but it does.” His eyes found Tony's. “Maybe I can understand this.” Dummy peered down at the toy, and Steve stroked his head. “Did this help you?”

“I still had it when I was seventeen, Steve, what do you think?” Tony pushed away from the workbench and ambled over. He closed his hands over Steve's, folding them around the toy. “You saved me,” he said, his voice crisp, no nonsense. Matter-of-fact. “When I needed to believe in heroes, I always had you.”

Steve sucked in a thin, wavering breath. “Is this weird?” he asked.

“What, that I had a plush version of you as a child?” Tony asked, and his face bloomed with a smile, a real one, hiding in the crinkles at the corners of his eyes and the way his teeth flashed. “That I slept with Captain America when I was six?”

Steve choked on a laugh. “Do not ever say that again,” he said, trying to sound stern and failing, failing because there was warmth in Tony's hands, in the soft weight of the toy held in their fingers, in the press of Dummy's strut against his side.

“Is it weird that my father was your friend decades before I was born?” Tony asked. “Am I just a replacement for Howard?”

Just like that, the laughter died. “Don't ever say that again, either,” Steve said, all semblance of humor gone.

“Okay.” Tony took the toy from his hands. “I didn't want to like you, Steve. Meeting your heroes seldom works out well. Marble heroes have feet of clay, more often than not. I didn't want to like you. I was pretty determined to hate you, actually. Sure would've made my life easier if I could've managed that.”

He paused, one thumb stroking across the toy's head. “Fuck you for being so likeable.”

“It was hard,” Steve said, and he was grinning, and Tony was grinning back, dark eyes lit with humor and life and heat. “You're such an ass, Tony.”

“See? This is totally your fault, both for being likeable, and liking me even though I am not, it is one hundred percent-”

Steve caught his tie with one careful hand and pulled him in, stopping his words with a kiss. When he pulled away a moment later, he didn't let Tony go far. “I like you just fine,” he said, his voice husky and soft.

“I'm really good in bed,” Tony said, and Steve kissed him again, just because it was good, and because letting Tony talk was dangerous. Tony broke away, and he leaned into Steve's body. “I like a guy named Steve,” he said, not meeting Steve's eyes. “Who has a nice laugh, and likes sitting on the couch eating Chinese and tries to make me eat oatmeal with raisins in the mornings, and listens to me rant about things no sane person cares about. Who doesn't complain about my cold feet or the fact that I glow in the dark. Who loves a fire in the fireplace and a book and one blanket for the two of us. Who fusses about the cost of a meal out and always takes his leftovers. And eats them.”

Tony paused. “And sometimes, he wears a spangly suit and saves the world. But he's still Steve, under all that.”

Steve stared at him. “What do I take in my coffee?”

Tony froze, his face blanking out. After a second, he sighed. “No fucking clue.” His eyes flicked up. “Jarvis?”

“Black in the mornings and in emergency situations. With two sugars if it is late and you need sleep. Hot year round,” Jarvis said, crisp about it.

Tony shrugged. “I'm not so good at that stuff,” he said, a cutting note in his voice. “I use technology to compensate.”

Steve felt the grin bloom on his face. “Seems like a logical choice.” He nodded at the toy. “Give it to Dummy.”

“What does Dummy need with a mini-plush version of you?” Tony asked, but the bot was already reaching for it, his claw clicking with enthusiasm. “Why do you even want this?” he asked Dummy.

“Because it was yours,” Steve said, and that felt right. “Because it is yours.”

“No,” Tony said, as he handed it over. “Because it's you.” Dummy took it and sped off back to his charging station. The other bots craned their heads around to study the toy as Dummy placed it on top of his station. Tony tucked his hands in his pockets, rocking on his heels, his face unreadable in the lowered light.

“You saved me. When I was alone, afraid, feeling isolated and friendless and far from home.” He stopped. “You saved me.”

Steve reached out, cupping Tony's chin in one hand. “Isn't it odd?” he said, and he heard the words as if from a distance. “That's exactly what you did for me.”

Tony met his eyes, his lips kicking up on one side. “Well, how bout that,” he said, hooking Steve's belt with one finger and pulling him in. “We're even, then.”

“Sounds like it,” They were close enough now that he could feel Tony's breath on his lips, and he couldn't hold back a shudder. “Tony-”

“Yeah,” Tony said, and he closed the last inch between them, and Steve hugged him tight, pulling him close, holding him as their mouths met. “Bed?” he whispered.

And he shouldn't say yes, and he shouldn't allow it, but he needed this right now, he needed the way that Tony's lips slid across his jaw, the way Tony settled a clever hand at the small of his back. “Please.”

It would be what he could have. For now. He could wait for the rest.

*

“I hate our life. Have I mentioned that recently, Rogers?” Tony threw his shirt at the trash can. It made it in, but not through skill or actual effort. “Have I?”

“A couple of dozen times since we left SHIELD, yes,” Steve said, and that was fine. He wasn't really that enthusiastic about their existence right now, either. “I think we need to leave magic up to actual magic users from now on.”

“Do we know any magic users? I mean, that don't hate us?” Tony was stripping. “I will be in the shower. This is the one and only time I will say this: You are not welcome in the shower with me. No. I cannot-” He shuddered. “Stay here. I have to scald my skin off.”

“Don't hurt yourself,” Steve said, watching as Tony tossed his pants and shorts towards the trash. 

Tony gave him a look. “Stay out here. I'm not kidding. You- No touchy!”

“You're clean, Tony. SHIELD wouldn't let you out of decontamination unless they were certain of that.” Steve leaned against the wall, because he could keep his hands to himself, but he there is no way he wasn't looking. Tony arched an eyebrow at him, and Steve attempted an innocent smile. It probably didn't work; he didn't manage 'innocent' so well any longer.

“They can say I'm clean all they want. I still feel filthy, and that's what matters, it was like bathing in chunky peanut butter, but slimier.” Tony shuddered. “I'll be back. When I'm clean.”

“I won't wait up,” Steve said, and managed not to laugh as Tony slammed the bathroom door. “Jarvis, please monitor the water temperature and keep it within human tolerances, please?” Steve asked.

“Of course.”

Steve threw himself onto the couch, stretching out all the sore spots in his shoulders. There were a lot of them. He really was getting sick of magic. And aliens. And monsters. He never thought he'd get to the day where he'd miss genetically engineered Nazis, but it would seem that was where he was in his life.

Of course, there was a naked superhero in his bathroom. That was a good thing. That could make up for a lot. Steve spent a couple of minutes cheerfully considering the idea of a naked, wet Tony. That was a dangerous path to tread, though, so he reached for the nearest tablet. “Jarvis, have I watched all the test footage?”

“Thirty-six files, yes, sir.”

Steve frowned down at the listing. “There's thirty-seven of them, Jarvis.”

“There are not. There are thirty-six files.”

Steve stared down at the listing, and counted the file titles. Then he did it again. Thirty-seven. He frowned, trying to figure out which one was the odd one out. None of the numerical sequences stood out as unfamiliar, but he'd been letting Jarvis choose which file they would watch. He opened his mouth, about to ask Jarvis for an explanation, when his phone started to vibrate.

He checked the readout, and connected the call. “Hi, Rhodey,” he said, and immediately added, “Everyone's fine. It looked worse than it was.”

There was a faint sigh of relief. “I thought so, but Tony wasn't picking up, got me a little tense, you know how it is.”

“He got hit hard,” Steve said, putting the tablet aside. “Mostly because he went in alone, against orders.” He rubbed his free hand across his forehead. “Why does he do that, Rhodey? Really, he makes me insane sometimes, I don't understand why he does that.”

“What, go all lone wolf on you?” There was a faint snort. “Get used to it.”

“I'd really prefer not getting used to it. I'd prefer he actually follow an order from time to time and not throw himself into a potentially deadly situation without the rest of us, it's insanity.” Steve tapped a finger on the tablet, and pushed it across the table, out of reach, before he gave in to watch Tony half kill himself in his workshop again. “I mean, he has a team now, he has someone to watch his back-”

He stopped, almost mid-word. “Oh,” he said.

Rhodey was laughing. “Was that the other shoe hitting the ground? Was that the last puzzle piece dropping into place? Did you figure it out?”

Steve collapsed back onto the couch. “He did it all alone,” he said, his voice thin and strained, “Because he didn't have a choice. Who was there, to watch his back?”

“No one,” Rhodey agreed. “Even when I wanted to, I couldn't. And Pepper couldn't. We had jobs and lives and we couldn't watch his back all the time. Too much distance, and too many secrets and he never let anyone in. He has his reasons, to distrust people, to hide, and those are his to talk about, if you can manage it. But he did his work alone.”

“He was always alone,” Steve said, his eyes sliding shut. 

“Even when he's not, he shuts people out,” Rhodey agreed. “Because no one stays. His work was done alone. Without backup. Without help. Because he couldn't get used to having someone there.”

Steve stood. “Yeah. Okay. He's doing it now.” He yanked his shirt off, juggling his phone as he wrenched his boots off, his socks. He stood, stripping his pants off. “I've got to go.”

Rhodey was laughing. “Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“You're going to have to just be there for a while. Until he starts to believe that he's not in this alone any more. It's going to take time.”

“Time, I've got. Rhodey? Thank you.”

“Any time. Thanks for the update, Steve. Talk to you soon.”

Grinning, Steve put his phone aside and headed for the bathroom. With a brisk knock, he pushed the door open. “Coming in,” he said, and Tony gave a squawk.

“Get out!” he yelled, even as Steve pulled open the glass doors of the shower. Tony glared at him, and Steve grinned back. “Out, Captain Overbearing.”

“You're clean.” Steve slipped in, closing the door behind him. “And you know it.” He ducked a sponge thrown at his head, and laughed as Tony kicked water at him, almost losing his footing when he did it. Steve caught him, his hands firm on Tony's waist. “You're clean, SHIELD medical decontaminated you, and scrubbed you down,” he said, smiling at Tony. “This isn't cleaning, it's comfort. Let me stay?”

“If you really want a shower,” Tony said, eyes narrowed at Steve, “I'll get out and you can use the shower.”

“You could,” Steve agreed. “If you really don't want me here, you can tell me to get out, and I'll go. Or, you could turn around and let me wash your hair.”

Tony put his hands over Steve's, and for an instant, Steve thought Tony was going to push him away. Instead, he twisted around and leaned back into Steve's body. “Fine. If you want to.” He sounded like a cranky child, and felt a great deal more mature as he curled his body against Steve's.

Grinning, Steve nuzzled his temple and reached for the shampoo. “I live to serve,” he said, making Tony laugh, warm and loud and real. When he dumped a handful of shampoo into Tony's dark hair, the laugh came to a sputtering stop.

“You need practice at this,” Tony told him as Steve began rubbing, working up a lather with strong fingers. Despite his complaints, he leaned into Steve's touch with a faint groan of pleasure.

“Okay,” Steve said, taking the chance to rub the tense muscles of Tony's neck, down to his shoulders. His fingers, slick with shampoo, glided over the skin, massaging as they went. Tony reached back and caught his wrist.

“Can you feel that?” he asked, tipping his head forward. “There's a scar there, no-” He pushed Steve's fingers up. “There. Can you feel it?”

“No, feel what, the scar?”

“No, the shrapnel.” Tony pulled away, ducking his head under the shower spray. “There's a chunk of metal in my neck. I used to be able to feel it, when I was a kid, maybe it's buried too deep now.”

Steve froze. “In your neck?”

“Yeah. There was an explosion, in Dad's lab.” Tony, oblivious to Steve's mental turmoil, grabbed the shampoo. “There's this- This chunk of metal, they couldn't get it out. It's still there, I think.” He lathered up his hands. “Lean your head forward, giant.”

Completely at sea, Steve let his head fall forward, and Tony's fingers, clever and strong, slid through his hair. The first chuckle caught him off guard, and it caught Tony off guard, too. His hands stilled, just for a second, as Steve started to laugh, loud and hard and almost hysterical. “You,” he managed, tipping his head up to meet Tony's eyes. He reached up, pushing suds away from his eyes. “I will never, ever figure you out,” Steve said, and that was fine. All of a sudden, that was just fine.

“I'm tricky,” Tony agreed, pushing Steve's head back down so he could rinse the shampoo out. “Is this a problem?”

Steve waited until the water ran clear before he leaned in, catching Tony's lips. “Nope,” he said. His fingers slid up Tony's side, finding warm skin beneath the rivulets of water.

“As much as I'd like to get into something here,” Tony said, kissing Steve's lips, “It's Tuesday. I've got an appointment.”

“Don't suppose you could use some company?” Steve whispered against Tony's mouth.

“What do you have in mind?”

*

“This was a horrible idea.”

“It is fine, fair Natasha.”

“No, she's right, the only reason it's still standing is because you're holding it up.” Marissa stared up at Thor. It was a long, long way up. 

He shook his head. “No, it is fine, little one.” He gave her a broad, happy grin.

She put her hands on her hips. “Then take your hand off of it.” Slowly, carefully, Thor dropped his left hand, and grinned at her. She wasn't impressed. “Now the other one.”

Thor's eyes slid up towards the top of the Lego tower. “That might not be the wisest of notions,” he admitted. “I can remain here.”

“Dude, you can't spend the rest of the night holding up a Lego tower,” Marissa said.

“Oh, he can. He's very patient,” Natasha said. “Give it up, Thor.”

“I see no reason to-” A Lego came whipping across the room, catching the tower on an exposed support strut with enough force to pop it free. There was an instant of silence, and then the whole thing toppled over, crashing to the ground and leaving Thor holding the now detached top and staring down at the remains with disappointment on his face. “That was unexpected.”

Perched on one of the other tables, his elbows on his upthrust knees, Clint tossed another brick in the air, catching it with a flick of his wrist. “Don't make this harder than it has to be,” he said, with a grin that was little more than a flash of white teeth. “Put down the toys and step back, Sparky.”

“Your tactics are ever dishonorable,” Thor said, stalking in Clint's direction, the tower still in his hand.

Laughing, Clint swung his body around, bouncing off the table, his feet kicking out ahead of him as he launched himself forward. “Dude, I'm not stupid enough to go head to head with you!” He dashed along the benches, vaulting over bins of bricks and leaving kids whooping and hollering in his wake.

“So, that happened,” Bruce said from the next table. Shaking his head, trying to hide his smile, he went back to his tablet, showing the older kids who were clustered around him how to work the graphics program. “Rotate the image here, and you can calculate the stresses-”

Tony leaned over his shoulder, not much caring as something, probably Clint and some Lego, crashed to the floor. “No, no, we can do better than that, up that by-”

Bruce held it out of reach. “Oh, no. No, do not even, Tony, you-”

Tony made grabbing motions for the computer, grumbling under his breath as Bruce smacked his hands away. “Fine! Minion!” He pointed imperiously at the nearest child, who rolled her head in his direction, one eyebrow arched. “Adjust the calculations to take into account a thirty-two percent increase in the electrical system.”

The girl flicked a bright green, glittering nail against the tablet, her black hair a halo around her face. “Won't that push the stresses on the track system-”

“BAH!” Tony said.

Everyone stopped. “Did you, did you just say... Did you just SAY 'bah?'” Bruce said, leaning back in his chair. “That seems odd. Even for you.”

“Bah,” Tony repeated with a wave of his hand. “Well, Cynthia?” he asked the girl, who was flicking her way through the program.

“Huh,” she said, nodding. “I didn't know that Lego could spontaneously catch fire.”

Tony stared down at her, his lips twitching, as the kids burst into laughter. “You, you are a horrible human being,” he told her, trying to sound stern. “You're on Dummy duty for the rest of the night.”

“Hot damn, yes,” she said, rolling to her feet to general laughter. Dummy, along with his more well-behaved brothers, were helping with the base assembly. You and Butterfingers were swift in their work, Dummy seemed more interested in digging through the bins, looking for pink bricks. “You're making a mess, Dummy!” Cynthia called, bouncing across the room.

“That is what he does best,” Clint said, ducking behind the bots, still keeping out of Thor's reach by some miracle. He looked over Dummy's support strut. “Look, I think you're taking this a little too-” Thor made a grab for him, and he dodged out of reach. “Well, if you're going to be like that,” he said, sounding insulted.

“I think he is, you kinda knocked over his tower,” one of the boys said. He tossed a strut in the air, and Butterfingers caught it in mid-air. “It wasn't nice.” He tossed one to Dummy, who ignored it. It bounced off his claw and Clint snagged it before it could hit the ground.

“What're you, the niceness police?” Clint asked the boy, tossing the strut back. “Dummy! Block for me!” Dummy's camera rolled in his direction, with a posture that could only be called disdainful. “Fine! See if I cover for you next time!”

Thor reached around Dummy, who obediently rolled out of the way. Clint took off running, dodging through the kids as they laughed and yelled after him.

“No running,” Coulson said, without looking up from his tablet. He tapped his fingers on the tabletop. “So.” Across the table from him, the group organizers shifted in their seats, looking uncomfortable. Coulson spared them a glance. “You've been restarting your 501c certification with each turnover of leadership?”

“Well, the thing is, we're college students, so the registered board can only last for four years,” John started, and Coulson clutched his forehead as if he was in pain. “No?”

“Get me your files.” Coulson sighed. “All of them.”

“But there's-”

“All of them,” Coulson repeated. A Roomba crept up the table, humming with a mechanical whine as it got close. Without looking up, Coulson snagged a Lego brick and tossed it towards an empty corner. There was a mad rush as the Roombas appeared from their hiding place under the table. “I hate those things,” Coulson said as one of the college students let out a shriek and scrambled up on top of his chair. Coulson gave him a look. “Pull yourself together, and get your files.”

“Yes, sir,” the boy said, hesitantly putting one foot on the floor. Mr. Fantastic rolled by, chirping, and the kid jerked back so fast he flipped his chair.

Steve knew it was bad form to laugh, but he couldn't quite help himself. From across the room, Tony caught his eye, and grinned. Steve grinned back, and Tony ambled over, his hands tucked in his back pockets. “Enjoying yourself?” he asked.

“Yeah. Thanks for letting us come.” Steve patted the seat next to him, and Tony took it. He reached for a bin of bricks. “We're building the-” Steve glanced at little boy next to him. “Venkata? What are we building?”

“First loop in the coaster,” the boy said, without looking up. 

“Excellent,” Tony said, checking the schematic with a flick of his eyes.

“What's our snack today?” one of the girls asked. She had a round, sunny face and huge dark eyes beneath blunt black bangs. 

“I do not know, go ask the idiot in the Boss hat,” Tony told her.

“Excuse me?” Nick Fury said from across the room, carrying off the multi-colored plumes with more grace than Steve would've believed possible. “Excuse me, Stark? Do you have something to say about the way I am running this op? Because if so, I'm sure we'd all love to hear it.”

“Nice hat, Nick,” Tony said, and Steve ducked his head to hide his smile.

“I look damn fine in this hat, don't even doubt it.”

A little girl gave him a scowl. “Fifty cents for the swear jar, Mr. Fury.”

“What? Aw, c'mon,” Nick said, digging in his pocket. “Phil, spot me a buck?”

“Alternate Tuesdays used to be so calm,” Tony said. “Why the he- Heck, I was going to say heck,” he said to the girl, who scowled at him. “Why the heck did I bring you all along? Especially him. How did Fury get involved here? I do not need this, how did this happen?”

“Because you like the company.” Steve nudged the bin of bricks towards Tony. “Get to work, Stark.”

Tony snorted, but he went to work. “There better be cookies.” For a few minutes, there was silence as they assembled the struts. “Steve?”

“Hmm?” Steve frowned at his work, and back at the schematic. 

“I'm going to be testing the new repulsors this week.” Tony's fingers were almost a blur, they were working so fast. “Could use some company.”

Steve glanced at him, and back to his work. “I can do that.” He struggled not to grin like an idiot. It was far harder to do than it should've been. “But, uh, there's a theater that's doing a retrospective on old film serials? I'd like to go, wanna come along?”

Tony's lips kicked up. “You buy the tickets, I'll buy the popcorn.” For an instant, they just grinned at each other.

“HEY! Get your ass back here, Barton! Agents, stop that man!”

Clint went running by, Boss hat clamped to his head with one hand, pursued by a pack of kids and Roombas. Marissa watched him go. “Should we try to get it?” she asked Natasha.

Natasha gave the hat, and Clint, a disdainful look. “Let the boys fight over who's in charge. And we'll control the actual building.” 

Marissa held up the plans. “I am kind of charge of that.”

“Well, then, why do you care who's wearing a stupid hat and crowing about how important he is?” As Clint came running by, Natasha stuck out a foot with a faint sigh. He hopped over it, crowing in delight. He was still snickering when he landed, and Natasha's foot snapped against the back of his knee, sending him sprawling. “Of course, you can't let them get away with endangering your project,” Natasha explained to Marissa.

“This is, this is your fault,” Tony said to Steve, who shrugged.

“Family. What can you do?” he asked. “Pass me the six length ones?”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Things Unseen (That Are Captured on Film)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/912605) by [Hananobira](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hananobira/pseuds/Hananobira)




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